Take This Blood
by Q u e e n V a m p
Summary: slight-AU. —O you were a vampire and I may never see the light. raphael/simon
1. it's an addiction

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **well, books and the TMI series and everytime Simon and Raphael talk to each other is music.

* * *

_"I'm hooked on you, I need a fix, I can't take it—_

_Just one more hit, I promise I can do it—"_

—"Addicted" by Kelly Clarkson

* * *

Simon crumbles to his knees on the pavement, eyes blown wide and mouth agape and ringed red like a child trying on his mother's lipstick. The rouge smudged hue coloring his lips and tongue and passing down his throat like thick cherry syrup, so addictive and sweet, you're not sure whether you want to drink more or never touch the stuff again. It keeps him alive, it keeps him slatted, but this is wrong, this is different, _he wants more._

More, more, such glorious more.

All the better to quench the Thirst.

All the better to fill his belly.

All the better to sustain his nature.

Simon pauses, his thoughts startling him. Then again, his new thoughts have been doing that a lot lately. With very feeding, every fresh tapped vein, and pulsing wound he presses his greedy mouth to his mind begins to bend and bend like a twig ready to snap.

Blood bags, animal blood, it doesn't help. He needs fresh blood—he needs the vein.

It started a few weeks ago, after his change he'd be curled up in his bed, sound asleep, clutching a bottle of microwave warm blood to his chest and inhaled the stale scent he'd nip at all through the night to keep nightmares of killing his mother at bay. He drank, but something was missing. He starved, but food was waved before his face. He resisted, but the Thirst was too strong.

One thing you should understand, the Thirst was not primal hunger, but suffocation—needing of blood in his veins that would live and thrive through for more than a few days, boiling in his belly and making him feel oh so alive. He needed to feel alive.

It was a simple equation of the human body: blood + veins = movement.

The more blood he had the further from rigor mortis he was and the better off he would be. It was survival.

His mind is racing like morning traffic when they high of the warmth begins to wear and he's left staring at a bloody corpse lying not two feet from him. He instantly sobers and lunges at the body once again.

It's a girl this time—which surprises him since most his victims have been male—she's video star pretty with platinum blonde curls and crescent eyelashes that curl over her delicate cheekbones like waning moons. She's as white as a lily.

"Oh—" His throat chokes around the word and tear begin to salt his eyes as the burning in his throat begins again.

_There is nothing more beautiful than a white woman with her breath all gone; _Simon recalls a line from an old poem and his dead heart crawl up his throat.

"I'm sorry,"

A noise echoes to his left—clapping.

"Good, good," The shape steps from the darkness like a metamorphosis, shadows slowly crawling away from Raphael's angelic features that credited more his name, not his nature. The white collar of his shirt is clean and crisp, not a stain to tarnish his perfection.

Simon begins to shake and Raphael's lips begin to curl upward at the ends, fangs gleaming at deliciously full bottom lip. "Oh, _cariño, _don't be that way, you didn't make too much of a mess this time." He sounds almost delighted while Simon is still trying to grasp.

"I—I hurt someone . . . I killed her, I . . ." he stammers.

"She would have died anyway," Raphael says tersely, eyes sweeping over the girl distastefully and raises a brow. "Now she doesn't look nearly half the morsel you made her out to be. Was she any good?"

"I—I—" Simon can hardly comprehend what Raphael is saying now, much less think to the blood he'd drank down like a glass of water in the desert.

Gentle hands slip under his chin, slowly raising his head to an incline, Raphael kneels before him on one knee with a crown of inky black curls and a curious smirk—no one else has ever seen this side of him; not Clary, not Jace, no one. He looks so much like a dark angel right now, fallen from heaven's grace and preying upon the weak.

"Come now," His hand his hard on his jaw, fingers pushing hard enough to bruise and Simon whimpers when Raphael leans over him with his soft, pink tongue lapping at the corner of his mouth in one clean drag and moans, low and deep in his throat—it's enough to drive Simon mad. "Mmm,_ cariño,_ you do indeed have the taste for blood—hers was so pure."

"It didn't want to kill her." He groans and the other vampire laughs.

"The girl still lives," he says dryly. His dark eyes glitter under the smoggy moonlight. "Here, listen to her heart."

Simon's eyes crawl across the pavement towards the girl, limbs contorted like a ragdoll's but beneath her creamy white skin, and her torn throat, her heart still beat—faintly—like a flashlight flickering, flickering, flickering before it went out.

Relief began to flood him until Raphael stands, hauling him up and throwing him across the girl. Simon scrambles up, glancing over his shoulder, and is pinned by Raphael's intense dark stare.

"Finish her," he whispers hollowly and Simon could feel her gentle heartbeat under her skin—pushing through her wrists and neck to prove life. "Now. Do it."

Simon finds his voice just as quickly, "No," he says.

"No? You would rather have the precious human suffer through her last moments of life?"

Simon winces. "No, I've had my fill. I'm done."

Raphael's small chin tilts upward and his eyes are dissecting him slowly—starting with his clothes—and his expression seems to say _ah, mutiny_, but nothing more. He's opting for the challenge though and Simon leans fully over the girl's body to protect her, instead of hurt.

"You will do it." Raphael's eyes flash. "You know you will, I know you will. It's not that hard, put your hands on her neck, just like before, give it a good grip and twist. It's just like breaking a chicken's neck."

"I've never broken a chicken's neck." Simon mumbles, feeling nauseous.

"Fine. It's like snapping a twig, now kill her."

He feels the pull, the great tidal wave that yanks him out of the bay and into the ocean, stumbling into deep dank waters where he'll drown.

"No . . . no, please . . ." His fingers prickle and crawl and suddenly they're on the girl's neck and suddenly he's gasping from breath. "No . . ."

"My patience is wearing thin, Daylighter," The words come searing hot like the crack of a whip against his skin and his voice tears at his skin and bone, injecting poison into his system. Simon feels light headed.

He felt the venom behind each word—driving into his skin like a meat clever, slowly peeling at his ears. He could not stop it, this pain, this hollowness. He did not want to kill the girl, he did not want to take a life—it wasn't in his nature. He didn't want to be a vampire! He wanted to be human! He didn't want to drink blood, or serve this psychotic freak! Sometimes he wishes he could walk into the sun and burn, fry like a forgotten pancake—bubble into the frying pan and burn a hardy dark brown before a charcoal black in crumbs, in pieces.

It could end; it could all end, if—.

"_Kill her._"

_Snap._

And it's all gone.

The gentle heartbeat behind the moonlight skin, the thriving pulse, the color, the humanity—the girl's a shell of skin and bones and no soul lingers in her remains. _And it's all his fault._

He took a life, blood on his hands. Gone.

The body under him is cool and still, beyond help, only fit now for a coffin. She was young, and bird-boned delicate, a bit like Clary, but sweeter somehow, perhaps in the face and doe-like brown eyes.

Her eyes are shut forever now, but Simon's fingers brush over his lids, leaving to smears of red that run vertically over her pale face like war paint down to her jaw. _She hadn't even fought me._

"Well, now that that dramatic is over with—"

Screaming in rage, Simon lunges at him knocking the other boy to the ground and wrestling to quickly pin him under him. Thighs pressing into his, hands clasping at wrists—Raphael looks hardly amused, but Simon is raging.

"I hate this!" he screams and he means it, with every fiber of his being, with every ounce of new blood in his veins, he means it. His nails lengthen and dig into the other boy's wrists, making deep gouges through the skin. He raises a claw to Raphael's sight, showing him his blood. "I hate what _you _made _me_!"

"Simon—" Raphael's free hand begins to slip towards him, bloodstained fingers and all, and Simon is quick to pin him again. Teeth bearing down, he tells himself no. _No, no, no. _No, he does not need the blood. No, he is not hungry. No, this doesn't change anything. No, he doesn't want—

"Simon—"

There's something about Raphael—his looks, his nature, his voice. His voice is the worst. Where his glittering dark eyes might catch his and sneak them away, holding him prisoner somewhere dark and secret where no one could find them, it was his sire's voice that called to him the most, the strongest. It was an indescribable _pull _that made him want to go to him, please him, do whatever it took too make him happy.

"Simon—"

But he hated him. He hated what he'd become, he hated lying, he hated the blood. He hated how good it tasted. He hated how every flavor and type was different. He hated that he wanted to be near Raphael, like a loyal puppy dog. He hated wanting him at all. He hated the taste of his lips, the touch of his hands, the feeling of bliss when fangs broke skin and they were too far gone to turn back. He hated _knowing _those things felt good at all.

"_Cariño —_" Raphael's wrist unshackles itself and he presses his blooded fingers to Simon's cheek in a mock of affection, Simon leans into the gentle touch. Fingers brush a bloody trail along his cheek and a thumb presses adamantly at his lip. "Taste,"

And he does, slowly. His lips part and allows Raphael's thumb into his mouth. His tongue lathers the digit affectionately and teasingly drags his fangs across it—and he's lost in the lust once again. When he withdrew his finger, Raphael presents his wrist, allowing Simon to lap at the once thriving pulse point and drying blood—numbing it to pain—and digging his teeth into the perfect unmarred skin.

Raphael smiles and eases himself up, curling his fingers into Simon's dark hair draw him close to his chest. "There, yes, there. Good,_ cariño_. Drink,"

And Simon did, deeply as Raphael would allow because—even with the fangs turned, so to speak—Raphael was in control. Always in control. He held the reigns and drove Simon where he wanted him, when, and at what time.

He was putty in his hands.

Drugged by his blood.

Entranced by his touch.

"All mine, my Simon."

* * *

**There will be more to this piece of hell. Anyway, half-asleep, I'm still the good kid in class so I didn't tell my teacher that if we had to read/write poetry could we at least read E.E. Cummings because if I have to do this I think I would want to read beautifully written porn rather than read about the mother effing Purtians. So I went off on my own after I got home and wrote this for an hour and decided to make this a three-shot.**

**WHEEE~~~**

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please.**


	2. make me burn

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **well, booksand the TMI series and everytime Simon and Raphael talk to each other is music.

**Note | **Thank you, **Black Heart **for helping me with my nonexistent knowledge of Spanish. I speak German-sprechen si Deutsch.

* * *

_"Blue jeans, white shirt—walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn_

_It was like James Dean, for sure,_

_You're so fresh to death and as sick as ca-cancer—"_

—"Blue Jeans" by Lana Del Rey

* * *

Simon lays back on the bed, sinking into the farce warmth of the sheets and closes his eyes—fitfully aware of the eyes watching him as he tried to sleep. He couldn't though, his body was alive, raging with life and new blood that pumps through his veins with such ferocity he feels like he's touching a livewire and feeling the energy serge through his body.

He feels weightless like he could do anything, but the guilt bridles him into sleep. So he tries, laying belly-up on Raphael's bed and staring at the cobwebs on the ceiling and wondering if any of them would brave crawling down the bedposts in the middle of the day, between the curtains, and into his open mouth as he sleeps.

He closes his eyes and tries to dream, but all that's on his mind is the body lying close to his—Raphael, Raphael and his blood, Raphael his master. He halts himself before his thoughts could voyage deeper, to the bond between them, the parts of his mind that were Simon and the parts of him that were fledgling, but nothing was clear. Everything was a mess, broken into pieces and he tries so desperately to keep them fit together.

Displaced rage, passion and want thrive through his veins: wanting to share, wanting to touch, wanting in general. Raphael is the closest he'll get.

"I can't sleep," he declares and Raphael laughs.

"You drank a lot of blood, including mine, don't worry it will quell when the sun rises."

Raphael's fingers are like spindles, long and slender and beautifully tan, his fingers slide to Simon's wrists—etching at the blue-violet veins with his nails—and push them into the cool sheets. He doesn't fight it, despite the jittery tremors coursing through him; he knows Raphael has a good number of decades to shove him down with. He's only a baby vampire after all, just a little _cariño_, and his attempts would be laughable at best.

Raphael nuzzles his way to the crook Simon's neck and his fangs arch against his skin.

"Why didn't you feed while we were out?" he asks and jumps a little when Raphael's tongue drags a tantalizing slow trail from his collar bone to his chin, the skin their felt cool once he pulls away but Simon's not sure. Warmth, cold, it all muddles together into numbness that will lapse into pain, but pain is better to feel when you're a shell.

The elder nibbles lightly on the apex of his trail—the corner of his jaw—and his dark eyes meet Simon's.

He's not going to answer, but Simon knew full well why. _He wants to drink from me, _Simon thinks. _He wants my blood to see if he can touch the sunlight. _

"I don't miss the sunlight," Raphael says, reading his thoughts. "I do it for other reasons too."

_He just wants blood from me. _Simon stiffens as Raphael leans down and sinks his fangs into the flesh of his neck. He arches, cry on his lips, hovering in the corner of his throat and he feels Raphael smirk against his skin.

The pain is good and subsides just as quickly, but he feels more when Raphael pulls away from the new wound and dives to make another, and another, and another . . .

He cries each time a bite lands, but it's a feeling he's use to and the noise seems to drive Raphael to madness, to make it happen again.

His leg swung around him, pressing Simon's hips between his knees as he bent fully over him; trailing a blood soaked, open mouthed kiss down the tender healing flesh of his neck before biting the other side just below his jaw.

He's bleeding out on the pillow, Raphael lapping at his neck as if he were tasting wine.

The new blood makes him feel warmth—as it always does—the life he received from it was at its peak and from a hormonal, young teenager. And as much as he hates to say it, he likes this. He likes this, _a lot. _Whether it's the drive from the blood, Raphael's kiss, or some other enigma Simon can't bear himself a moment to care.

"R—Raphael . . ." His voice is too hoarse and he practically screams it out—half-aware that most of the clan is at a party tonight—and growls when the elder vampire moves to bite him again. Near feral, he snaps, "Stop that!"

All this time, Simon had made no move to touch him, but now he surges forward—fingers gripping at Raphael's black curls and wrenches him back to save himself the torture. Teeth graze his chin, and then he's looking into Raphael's deceivingly innocent face and bloodstained lips.

"You've got to use your voice, _cariño._" Raphael leans close to him until their noses are touching and he slowly, oh so slowly, lowers his hips against his making Simon gasp, his grip loosening on his hair. Raphael brings his free hand to his lips. "You've got to tell me if you _want this,_ Simon."

Heat. Warmth. Humanity. It sparks through him like fire on his fingertips and Simon clings, jumps, and reaches towards it. Their lips connect briefly and Raphael's breathe fans over his mouth in a single sweep: blood, death, dust, and the smell of old wood fill him entirely.

"Words, _cariño, _words," Raphael hushes in a soothing voice as laps at the bow of Simon's upper lip where blood had stained it burgundy. "They are of great value here."

"Really?" Simon drawls sarcastically.

Raphael chuckles and his hand slips between them where their bodies dip to touch. "_Really,_" he emphasizes with his fangs, as Simon yips and arches into him. "Words work wonders when you think of it. For example, when I tell you that I'll—" He breaks off into harsh whispers against the shell of his ear, half in English and most in Spanish, which Simon has _no idea _what he's saying, but it sounds_ good_.

"Please," Simon groans out, pawing at the air in front of him trying to find leverage on Raphael's body.

"So sorry, what was that?" Raphael says smoothly and Simon wonders how he can be so calm.

"Please!"

"Please, what?"

His hand still against him.

"Oh for the love of—"

"_Dios, _are you trying to burn that pretty throat of yours? Speak clearly and tell me what it is you want."

Simon pauses and waits and opens and closes his mouth feeling the burning begin to recede as well. He feels one last stalling brush against him and bucks his hip upward—to which Raphael cleverly moves away. He's only a short distance from more, _that_ and _more_, that and sleep. Three words, three syllables, one breath, one second, two minutes gone and so far away and so close—it wouldn't hurt him.

Simon's eye catch Raphael's, cool and collected, glittering like black ice you find in the corners of the roads during the withering months of winter that crawl into March. Black and lifeless, black and dangerous. He looks into those eyes, doe brown and coal black, and his lips part for a much needed breath of air.

"I want you."

"Good boy." Raphael smirks approvingly and flicks the button keeping them apart.

* * *

**Simon's sleeping with the Devil-I approve. You need to hear this song becuase this girl is genius and beautiful and damnit I really wish I looked like her. Purtian poetry brings out the worst in me. Maybe I'll make this a Multi-Chap because there are aspects of this abusive relationship I want to get down.**

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please. **


	3. our love is hate

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **well, books and the TMI series and everytime Simon and Raphael talk to each other is music.

**Note | **Thank you, **Black Heart **for helping me with my nonexistent knowledge of Spanish. And thank you for the reviews! **P.S. what do you think of the story's image/cover page? It's supposed to be Simon's mouth. **

* * *

_"You got to know, know my weakness—you always touch in all the right places,_

_We don't get, along that well—not much for talk, but you're hot as hell_

_I have to fake it—I'd leave if I could_

_I'm not in love, but the sex is good—"_

—"Sex is Good" by Saving Abel

* * *

Simon dives, head-first and willing as the night progresses into the feigning lights of the day and Raphael finally moves away from him. But the moments between then before then are nothing short of intimate, if they can be. Opting to legend their kind is a species of sex driven heart-throbs without the pulse. True, Simon had yet to meet a vampire that wasn't pale, slender and beautiful with sexual desire to spare, but Raphael was an opposite in a way. His demeanor was short but tall, his shoulder strong yet small in a way that they fit in the palms of Simon's hands as his nails bled crescents into his shoulders. His skin was tan, beautiful and ethereal, but cold all the same to him.

All these contradictions, tics and tats, remind him that he _hates _Raphael.

But there was nothing he could really do about it.

His shirt is the first to go, tugged off his head in an unimpressive manner before being flung aside. His shirt is burning from the rough treatment, but their mouths come together again like magnets and they're kissing. It's rough with Raphael's insistence, lips firm yet soft with an unbridled sort of wildness only a vampire could posses. Its suffocating and soon becomes bloody when Simon splits Raphael's lip in retaliation with his teeth. This time Raphael is the one to yip in pain and pull away, but he growls, lowly like an animal, and pushes Simon off his elbows and into the pillows that cave in around his head. Giving off a feeling of being caged, Simon shrinks back.

Raphael huffs curtly, and sits himself down on Simon's lap. His bleeding lip is healed, but the blood lingers—Simon wants to lap it off him—and Raphael let's his tongue roll out, over his lip before sucking it into his mouth. "You always liked biting," he mutters lowly and his fingers curl around the top button of his shirt and continue to pop the buttons of the shirt all the way down until he could shrug it off easily.

Simon touches the newly exposed skin hesitantly, fingers stark againsthimself skin, Raphael hums pleased and Simon tentatively leans up—slowly, as if to ask for permission—and presses his lips to the delicate skin of his chest, just at the base of his sternum, and begins kissing a trail upward to his clavicle. Raphael does nothing to halt him and he latches onto the skin there and licks until the cool slide of a chain brushes his lips—Raphael's gold cross.

He's curious about it and asked about it on more than one occasion, but Raphael never says anything about it—he never takes the chain off either. It's just another Santiago mystery he's not allowed to know.

His hands press into the small of the other's back, pushing inward with the heel of his palms, and lips and tongue drive a trail up the hill to Raphael's shoulder and mouths the scar lingering from the chain, before grazing it lightly with his fangs—pleased to hear a small sigh in Raphael's throat, his long lashed eyes flutter closed.

_Make him do it again. It's such a pretty sound. _Simon pleas with himself and his fangs arch down from his upper jaw with want. _Againagainagain! _

He scraps his teeth against the scar again, harder and combats the pain with a light thrust of his hips—Raphael hums into him, his hands curling into Simon's hair and shoulder for leverage. Simon repeats the motion again and again, until Raphael moans and his beast is screaming in pleasure. The vampire-part of his mind is taking over, fangs and claws.

Suddenly, he's on top of Raphael, hips pushing together so that they connect, even through the barriers of clothes. Simon's mouth attacks Raphael's throat, marring a dark hicky into his skin like a bruising fruit. Raphael remains surprising docile for a few moments, until Simon's teeth break the thin layer of skin keeping him from the blood—then he stiffens as if in rigor mortis.

Simon pauses, wondering if he did something wrong, if Raphael doesn't like it, but the affirmative petting on the back of his neck keeps him moving and thrusting. He inches his fangs out carefully, kissing the wound closed before pulling back to look at his partner.

Raphael is wearing an unreadable expression, sleepy and bedroom-eyed, but odd somehow. Like he was plotting Simon's ultimate demise as they kissed.

_No, _the word chokes in his throat like the name of the Holy Father. Fear spike into his gut like the easing of claws into skin and he leans forward again, eyes screwed shut and connects their lips in a messy kiss—tilting his head to find the right angle and all together seemingly making an even bigger idiot out of himself.

"_Cariño_," Raphael hisses through his teeth, lips smashed against his gums. His hands migrate to Simon's face and cup the apples of his cheeks and pull him back. His eyes are dark from anger and something else Simon can't place. "Calm down; you have all the time in the world."

"I—I'm sorry."

Raphael's brows draw and Simon can feel the tell-tale prick of claws digging into his skin. "Don't apologize while we're in bed." One clawlike hand slips back behind his head and back into his hair, pulling gently. "Relax," he purrs, eyes closing. "_Feel,_"

And Simon does. He feels the tremors coursing through his and Raphael's body, the unneeded breathe, he's sure he'd be sweating too if he could. He could feel the smooth push and slide of Raphael moving against him and the grip of his hands. But it didn't stop there. He could _taste_ it: Raphael's skin on his tongue, the blood, the gold, and his lips. He could hear their irregular breathing. He could smell arousal.

A nose nuzzles against his and Simon's eyes snap open to find Raphael inching him down to his lips. They start slow, their kisses lethargic and unhurried, sometimes barely brushing and as careless as the brushes of Raphael's hands over his jeans. Then the elder places a firm, closed-lip kiss to Simon's before they slowly part with a deep exhale—Simon gives a breathy moan. They continue to kiss, slow and building; until Raphael's tongue flickers out like a snake to snap at Simon's, drawing his out to play.

This leads into an open mouthed kiss that Raphael takes the reigns in. The slow build is over and the heat breaks over Simon's skin, he shivers. The kiss continues hot and heavy taking Ina nd feeling more and more of each other.

Raphael's hand trails down Simon's shoulder, fingers igniting a thousand tiny flames down his body. Over his ribs and stomach that sucks inward at his touch to the waistband of Simon's jeans; his fingers hook in the band, thumbing the button he unlatched earlier, and _pulls _downward, tearing at the zipper—much to Simon's displeasure.

"Eh!" Simon cries, but Raphael whirls them around, pushing him into the bedding again and presses his mouth hotly against his.

"Shhh," He kisses him into silence.

* * *

**This is what being conservative does to me, :P I'm really hoping I got them right, and Simon's light freak out because he IS scared of Raphael. Just a bit. **

**When I write about two guys in love (or two guys together) I play it off that: they're _guys_. The only gay guy I know who will speak to me about this at length wants men, not boys. Then again everyone has their own tastes but I want someone who'll argue with me. *le sigh* I hope I'm making sense and not accidentally offending anyone here. No offense seriously.**

**I wrote this listening to the song quoted above. Get it? Abel? Cain? Simon? Mark of Cain. Ha XD And "S.E.X" by Nickleback because I like them, "Judas" by Lady Gaga, and "S&M" by Rhianna (male version).**

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please. **


	4. can't live like this

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **well, we all stop to rethink our lives when they get crazy, right?

* * *

_"I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust—_

_I'm breathing in—the chemicals—"_

_—_"Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

Morning comes and Raphael is asleep on his belly, face buried in the pillows and the thick velvet curtains and panels of wood block all traces of sunlight from the room. Simon is staring at the ceiling like he had been a few hours ago, watching the spiders and listening to the noises of the hotel settling after the rest of the clan had trickled in after a lengthy night on the town and curled themselves into sleep.

Simon wishes he could do the same.

He pinches his eyes closed—tight so they wrinkle at the edges—then opens them wide as he can, only to find that _yes _he's still here, in Hotel Dumort with _Raphael _of all people.

_What the hell am I doing? _He thought for one wild moment and lets his body sink into the cool, tousled sheets beneath him—their dirty, but slept in enough to smell more like Raphael than dust. They smell like him too, and sex, and blood, and—too much. His fingers grip a handful of the sheets finding the tears his nails made and he bites his lip gently between his sharp vampire teeth, not wanting to break skin.

He spots his jeans on floor a distance away and in one fluid motion sits up and crawls off the impossibly large bed to the dusty floor. Raphael doesn't stir—he's in a dead sleep anyway—so Simon dresses quickly and heads out through the front door like he owned the place.

His body aches with gentle pain—the worst of it starved off already—and enjoys the bites of discomfort with each step and pushes it into memory because he always needs it to remind himself: this is not love. Raphael doesn't love him, he wants to control him. By coven law, Simon is his to do whatever he wants with and the fledgling part of him is more than okay with this, but the part of him that cling to humanity—they scream in protest of each other.

"You had a strong heart, I will give you that," the quip was the closest thing he'd ever come to a compliment with him, but then again _why _would he _want compliments from him_?

It wasn't like he was . . . gay, or . . . really, it has to be the bond, but he can't shake the _attraction _he feels towards his sire. _It's the bond. It's the bond. It's the motherfucking bond!_

Maybe he could ask Alec about it, he was in the same boat not too long ago. Why he was so attracted to _Jace _and Magnus; while Simon speared his time between Isabelle, Maia and Raphael. Okay, maybe he'd leave Isabelle out of the conversation—for Alec's sake—and focus on the basics. Maia and Raphael, a werewolf and a vampire, a _girl _and a _guy. _

Maybe he only had the hots for one guy? Maybe he was bi-curious? Maybe it was the stupid sire bond that kept effing up his life? All systems seem to apply.

* * *

Simon arrives at Magnus's apartment—because he knows he's there, he can smell him—and presses onto the buzzer until the door unlocks for him. He takes the stairs two at a time, mind still racing from last night's events now more than ever. The blood on his shirt, reminds him. It smells human, so beautiful and red and human.

His jaw aches with the want to bite, to hunt, again.

Alec opens the door before he could reach it, eyebrows rising under his hairline.

"Simon?"

"Hey, Alec, can I come in?" he chokes on his words, fighting back hunger and winces at the sound.

". . . Simon . . . what's going on?"

"I, uh . . ."

He saw the blood didn't he?

"You're pants are ripped—_at the crotch._"

At that, Magnus swoops in from around the corner to investigate and gives Simon a severe once over, his mouth curls into a smile.

"Rough night?" Magnus chimes.

"You have no idea."

"Get in here." Alec growls.

* * *

Simon gives an overly edited version of his past few weeks—feeding, sleeping, Raphael and _other stuff_—that takes a little under half an hour to explain. By the time he finishes, Alec looks mortified and Magnus smirking.

"What?"

"So—you and Raphael, are—" Alec makes a gesture.

"Yes,"

"And you're—?"

"Freaking the fuck out? Hell yeah."

"No, you're gay?"

"No . . . maybe. I might be bi, right? Am I bi Magnus?"

"How should I know?" Magnus mumbles, eyes sliding over to Alec on the couch beside him.

"I don't know!"

"Look, Simon, it's probably just the sire bond. And anyway, vampires, demons, they don't care either way sex is sex and it doesn't matter much to them if their partners are boys or girls or in-betweens—they're prowess knows no bounds."

If that was supposed to make him feel better, Simon was beginning to doubt ever coming here.

Especially when Alec opts to call Jace, Isabelle and Clary over to investigate as the sun begins to fall beyond the city skyline.

* * *

**Okay, so I was freakin' out thinking: I've got to put up a new chapter or else everyone will think I'm done and I'm a blonde who forgot to click 'Complete'. No. We have six or possibly seven more chapters of my insanity to endure so sit back, relax and review. **

**HAHAH-Alec doesn't know about Magnus yet. And Simon's walk of shame. I'm wondering if the other vampires ever pick on him for that. **

**Sexy times next chapter. **

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please.**


	5. all i adore

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **dancing is another form of therapy, everything after that, not so much.

* * *

_"Let all the heat pour down—I'm good as long as he's around_

_He let's me wear the crown—_

_I do my best to make him proud."_

—"Papi" by Jennifer Lopez

* * *

He lasts till the clock strikes six, and by then Raphael is calling to him.

"Simon," Alec's eyes are round with worry. The image is faded around the edges, withering away like it was being burned, slowly singed by the flames. "You're going to be okay Simon."

His sire drowns him out.

His voice seeps under the door and through the halls, carrying on the wind and slips between his fingers to whisper in his ears. The whisper is soft and gentle: _come to me, cariño, Simon, come back to me, come back. _It's a mantra, its madness, and it sings to him and hooks into his skin, tugging him forward and before he realizes it he's at the door and the handle sparks blue flames around his palm—Simon jumps, and Alec is hauling him back like he's doing the right thing.

Which he is—or _thinks _he is.

Raphael needs him.

Hell, _Simon _needs him.

It's an itching feeling like something is crawling under his skin and alighting all his nerves to _run. _Run fast and far and to Raphael because he needs him now.

"Simon! Don't let him in your head!" Alec shouts but the furious whispers becoming louder and scratcher, husky as if Raphael was beside him breathing in his ear.

_Cariño_,_ Simon_—_come._

Simon mewls and breaks two of Alec's ribs in the struggle towards the door, scratching at the barrier spells that weaken when Magnus loses his concentration over the snapping of bones and finally he's out and away into the night.

* * *

He follows the voice hungrily, not bothering with street signs or landmarks, but somehow _knowing _where he needed to be. Raphael is waiting for him, of course, and is backed by a small band of vampires acting as guards for the evening so far from their original territory. They're standing in front of a brick building, neon lights writing out something in Spanish he can't read.

All he sees is Raphael. Raphael. Raphael. Raphael.

_Cariño. _

Simon takes the next few steps and Raphael's hand is on his cheek, pulling them to each other—chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh—and kisses him boldly in front of the others, nipping at his lower lip and demanding access to his mouth. Simon inhales sharply, melting against him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

They kiss until Simon is dizzy, head reeling and Raphael smiling at his clan. The neon lights around them making bright highlights on his ink black curls and reflect in Simon's glassy eyes.

They usher into the club before none were wiser.

* * *

The club plays an entrancing Spanish beat that sounds like a pulse. The air is spicy—smelling of foreign drinks, sweat and sweet smelling smoke—and it latches onto your tongue like you're in the desert with nothing to quench your thirst. Simon relishes in the feel of it. From the bodies of the club moving around him, to the fiery Latina girls with their sharp heels and spellbinding curves to the smoldering boys with odd eyes and beautiful bodies.

It's like stepping into a new world.

Everyone's so beautiful and young with fire in their veins.

_Wonder what they taste like. _Simon wonders, wetting his lips.

Raphael pulls him bodily onto the floor and Simon is thrown for a moment because Raphael can _dance_. Unlike him, who fumbles around the floor and hopes for the best. Drums echo into his ears like heartbeats and Raphael laces their finds together—palm to palm. Simon is clumsy with these new dances, and the other single dancers in the club look more than prepared to steal him away.

How do they dance like that? Step? Shake? Wow . . .

"_Cariño,_" Raphael nips at his ear and nuzzles into the crook of his neck and his hand move down, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his Shadowhunter leather pants and tugs him forward like they weren't already close enough. Simon yelps slightly when a leg presses between his and Raphael moves his hips reflexively with the music, grinding against him—Simon groans. "Let go."

The words move him, grabbing him like a command and seem to flip a switch in him.

Simon rolls his body against Raphael and smiles as they continue to dance in the thicket of the crowd. Blood, sweat and heartbeats singing around them, drowning in the music, the club was pulsing with a life all its own—like a blood vessel ready to burst. Raphael hisses in hurried Spanish to Simon's throat and latches his mouth onto the patch of skin under Simon's ear and he throws his head back, demanding more.

Simon's hands find purchase on the back of Raphael's neck and grinds hard upward.

Raphael groans and Simon mouths the corner of his jaw, to the edge of his mouth, fangs dropping from his upper jaw, bringing their mouths together again for a filthy kiss.

* * *

"How about you show me more of that bite you showed me last night?" Raphael asks full lips tempting into a smile as he sits back on the bathroom counter and pulls Simon to stand between his legs. His fingers brush a nonexistent trail up and down the length of his arm—coaching him to move.

Simon swallows thickly and touches the side of Raphael's lovely face and slides his hand through the other boy's luxurious dark curls and tilts his head down, pressing their lips together. Hesitant and soft like a butterfly's wings brush against a summer breeze. The two gasp not at the gentleness, but at the fact they could create something so gentle between them. Warmth flushes through him, like a forest fire creeping its way from his head to his toes, tauntingly slow. Taking a drag of air, Simon presses forward, lips parting and tasting the unique flavor of Raphael's skin and breath and—

His nails prick through the fabric of Raphael's dress pants.

Raphael moans and his hand falls across Simon's, guiding it up his thigh as they continue to kiss. His fingers brush across tented fabric and grinds down the heel of his hand. Raphael smiles and hums into his mouth, kissing a trail from his lips to his cheek to his jaw and spilling down onto his neck.

Simon peeks at him through his eyelashes: all gorgeous tan skin, dark eyes and beautiful mouth.

"I love you . . ." Simon groans heatedly to the curve of Raphael's neck, muffled with his teeth.

Suddenly, Raphael's face is no longer nuzzling into his neck. His expression is confused.

Or, perhaps, not muffled enough.

"What?" he says bitterly and Simon feels the sting.

"I, I mean—I,"

"Don't say that," Raphael growls, nails descending into the material of his tee shirt. "Never say that again."

"Oh—okay."

And then he was hopping off the counter and across the bathroom floor in seconds, unlocking the door and plowing out through the crowd.

* * *

**I feel like watching _Dirty Dancing _now. Or _Sabrina. _Neither of which will help the story along though. _Temptation _by Tyler Perry here I come. XD **

**This is taking a twist for better and for worse. It's longer than the other chapters. I like the write short chapters when beginning a story so I don't drive away/bore my readers, but I'm pretty sure I've got a good crowd reading this now.**

**Some psycho!Raphael next chapter. **

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please.**


	6. break 'n bruise

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **yeah . . . lots of stuff happens in my head.

**Warning| **abusive relationship & Simon being a blood whore

* * *

_"I wanna love you, but something's pulling me away from you—_

_Jesus is my virtue—and Judas is the demon I cling to."_

—"Judas" by Lady Gaga

* * *

Clary's hair is red-orange like a flame. She's not a redhead at all.

Red is blood and blood is red, it drips, falls, rolls from wounds made by teeth and runs like water. Slips between the lips and he kisses the wounds made, with his lips, tongue, teeth—more blood, he kisses again.

Simon grinds his teeth together, fending off the telltale ache of his elongating fangs and holding off the hunger until Clary came with more blood. He doesn't want the bottled stuff in his room, he wants the real thing. Raphael taught him to hunt, but—he didn't want to. Not his way. Not now.

"Simon, I got your—" He snatches the bottle out of her hand a quickly as he could, chugging down the microwave warm blood like he's suffocating and Clary's green eyes go wide and round.

He huffs a final breath when he finishes, wiping at the corners of his mouth with the cuff of his sweater sleeve.

"Do you want more? I can go get you more if you need it." Clary offers, her voice is genuine and so sweet, Simon almost smiles in spite of himself.

"No, it's fine. I just need to—rest, I need rest."

He's already sitting.

"Shall I get your coffin, milord?" Eric calls from the fake stage area they tapped off in his garage where all their others friends were tuning and setting up their instruments for rehearsal. Of course, having yet to tell his mother or sister about his new-found vampirism, he had decided to tell his band mates the secret—flashing fangs, claws and all to prove it too. They'd taken it surprisingly well.

Clary was less than pleased, but it was his secret damnit.

"For the last time, I don't sleep in a friggin' coffin." Simon snaps and eases himself back into the mustard yellow recliner, trying to unknot the aches in his back and neck with the old cushioned padding.

"Y'know, becoming a vampire sure made you grumpy." Eric whines.

"At least he can survive your crazy driving without a concussion now." Clary jabs back and takes the bottle from Simon's hand and presses a new, warmer bottle into his palm. "Here, drink up. That toolbox hit you pretty hard."

"Thanks." The stale smelling blood emanates off the half-melted plastic of the bottle and it stings his nose and burns his throat all the way down. He coughs and the muscles the rest down the best he could.

He hasn't eaten like this since Raphael took him under his wing.

"How's Alec?" he asks.

"He's fine. Magnus healed him and he was up with the rest of us looking for you." Clary says, falling into the chair, her arm bumping against his. The scent presses into him—Jace, fast food, the city smog and blood. Blood—flowing like tiny rivers beneath the fabric of her soft and delicate skin. His fangs begin to burn and Simon continues to grind his teeth down, keeping his fangs from lengthening.

The girl from a few nights ago flashes in his mind—her blonde hair and brown eyes, her beautiful skin and soprano scream.

"Clary—" He screams at himself and leans away, just a little and takes a whiff of the motor oil sitting on the shelf behind him.

"What happened last night?"

He leans away, ashamed. "I don't want to talk about it. Please."

She knows too much, she's seen too much—the vampire side of him wars over the human side, demanding to have the secrecy kept and the girl silenced. Clary doesn't need to know this much about him, who he is, and what's happening.

Blonde hair, brown eyes and screaming.

Wide brown eyes full of fear—so much so he could taste it on his tongue. Coppery like a mouthful of pennies.

Clary's eyes are green—not brown—evergreen and shining with worry, not fear. "Alright,"

* * *

The band practice continues on as usual—a few new songs, a few adjustments, new cords, new thoughts and bands names. Everything is new, that's what keeps it interesting. With his life as a vampire everything will always be changing—good thing he's use to it.

"_Counting Counts_?"

"No."

"_Cryptic Cravings_?"

"Why do we have to have a vampire theme?" Simon moans.

"Because we totally real vampire in the band and—since you won't let us put that on our Twitter page—we need to commemorate somehow."

"No vampire names." He says sternly.

"Fine, we are now _Lusitania._"

Clary makes a face. "Why after the British ship that sank?"

"That just it," insert dramatic hand gestures here. "No one knows who sunk it."

"Just like your career." says Clary dryly.

"I'm out of here," Simon grabs his guitar case. He can feel the exchanging glances behind him. Slowly, they shuffle out and until one heartbeat remains.

"Hey dude, got a sec?"

Simon turns only to find a sheet of scrap paper waving in his face like a flag for surrender. "Guess what I wrote?"

"Another poem?" Simon's eye brows rise.

"No—blah, done with that. I was watching _Interview with a Vampire _and then I had to start questioning my sexuality, since, well, there's all this unrequited love going on between Louis and all these other guys. So, I wrote a song about it! Clever, huh?"

"You have no idea." Simon says dryly.

"Well, will you listen?"

"What?"

"Will you give me some feedback?" Eric's eyes are bright and hopeful and Simon caves.

"Sure,"

They both drop onto the couch, careful distance between them, and Eric adjusts himself on the couch, clearing his throat. Simon's use to this, Eric reading his terrible poems to him before he presented them to the general public, it's normal. "Don't laugh,"

"I'll try,"

"And contain your applause until the end."

"Obviously." Simon rolls his eyes.

Eric blushes and presses his lips together, biting his teeth down over his tongue and finally letting go, breathing out one long, hard breath hinting more coppery scents. His eyes zero in on Eric's mouth and he begins.

_"Press your lips together—feel your fangs beneath your gums,_

_Feel the hunger, aching through them—how they wish to bite,_

_Have a taste, have a lap, have a drink—_

Simon flinches at the words. A vampire poem, of course.

Reflecting exactly what he's feeling? Just his luck.

Eric takes a breath and readies for the next verse.

_"Enjoy the taste on thine lips—embrace the darkness swathe like a blanket_

_Deny thy sunlight, doubt not thy nature_

_You belong to the night—you are slave to the sun,_

_Your sire, your master, your lover—I will have all of you._

Raphael wanted all of him, the first time he came to him, tapping at his window and drawing him out into the city on the back of a motorcycle and took him to a party—taught him how to hunt. Blood on his mouth, pungent on his tongue, Raphael drew him in for a kiss in the alleyway.

Every kiss and touch in between, Simon had given himself so willingly into all of it.

Simon—weak and pliable Simon—had fallen for the monster.

_"So take this blood—this wretched, wretched blood—_

_And drink to your fill—you're ultimate fill."_

Simon waits for his breath to catch up with him and looks into Eric's eyes—eager and trusting. He bites his lips. "So, what'd you think?"

_Now you see yourself how Raphael saw you, _something dark whispers to him from somewhere deep in his mind, so lost he almost thinks it's his conscience. _Look at how beautiful humanity is—the flushing skin, the bright eyes, the blood they make. Even the unpretty ones are beautiful. _

Simon kisses him, hard. Tilting their mouths to fit together and catching Eric's gasp with his teeth. The paper crushes between them, and Eric's fingers knotting into his hair—pulling hard in a way that's too rough to be rousing. Simon doesn't care. He kisses Eric like one would a lover—like he does Raphael.

Or did. Since he wasn't seen him in almost a week.

Why is Eric pulling his hair so hard?

Okay _ow._

"Dude—" Simon breaks off, tongue swiping over his teeth to make sure they're normal sized, and meeting Eric's eyes with a glare. "What's that about?"

"Simon, you just kissed me."

"Yeah,"

"Dude, I read you my poem and you kissed me."

"Yeah?"

"_Kissed me._"

_Shit._

"And you bit my lip."

_Son of a shit._

"Dude, when I said I was questioning my sexuality, that doesn't mean I am _now—_"

Eric's lip is bleeding—just a little—the taste of it lingers on his tongue and mouth. So good, so delicious, he wants more of it.

"Simon . . .?"

_Oh hell WHY?!_

Simon whirls around on the cushion to find Clary staring wide-eyed and mouth gaping.

Eric sucks his lip into his mouth and still manages an impish grin. "Uh, it's not what it looks like?"

"Eric, go." Simon whispers and he hesitates. "Go!"

Eric ran back into the house.

* * *

Clary and him stay in awkward silence for a long while, staring at each other and looking to the garage door Eric escaped through like the wished to follow him. But the fanged, elephant in the room didn't allow for anything to go ignored. "You bit him," Clary says accusingly and Simon feels his human side crying out. "Simon do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Of course I do, Clary, _I'm _the vampire here."

"_Simon Lewis,_" Clary growls looking as every bit of menacing as any coven leader. "Eric is your friend; you can't just go around biting anyone you want!"

"I know!" Simon screams and pauses because he's never yelled at Clary—not like this. "I know! It's not me, it's the—I don't _mean _to do this. I don't _want _to do this. And I'm trying to figure this out but I _can't _with you and Alec and everyone else breathing down the back of my neck!"

His friend's expression is lost and Simon wants to kick himself.

"You have _no idea _what I'm going through right now."

Clary's heartbeat is picking up against his ears, loud and echoing like a drum that beats at a steady rhythm against his ears. Blood pumps through her veins and flushes against his skin and—_stop._

This is not him. He's not some mindless beast.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Clary says heartbeat calming. "We can talk about this later."

Simon takes a breath, tasting Eric's blood on his lips, and lets it go. Lapping the blood away and letting go. He didn't need it, this wasn't him. He just needs to calm—

"I don't think Eric's gonna give us a ride and I don't see any cabs." Clary says and glances down as her phone. "Isabelle just got her license. They might be able to pick us up."

—he just needs to not think of this right now.

"Damnit, my phones dead."

"Don't worry about it," Simon smiles and tosses his phone to Clary. "Call Jace."

Smiling apologetically, Clary steps outside and shuts the door behind her.

He turns back to his guitar case and takes one last look to the couch before stepping out of the garage.

The scent of blood hits him immediately. Clary's unconscious on the ground. "Clary—?!"

"She'll be fine," says Raphael, stepping from the shadows. "She hit her head."

"Raphael . . ." Looking at him, suddenly nothing else matters. His sire is here and he loves him. Simon wants to claws his own eyes out so he'll never have that feeling again. "Where've you been? I came by the hotel and everyone turned me away!"

On the bright-side, the distance and postmodern ideals didn't allow him to be easily swayed by that Bella-syndrome bullshit.

"Who's the human?" Raphael asks, ignoring his question, cool as a cucumber.

"That doesn't matter you son of a—" Raphael fangs gleam from the shadow of his mouth, echoing with a hiss that cuts him off.

"Who's. The. Human. Daylighter?"

The bond between sire and fledgling makes him give—slowly. The truth tumbles out of his mouth.

"Ah? Eric—he's a friend." Simon stutters.

Had Raphael overheard his conversation with Eric? Did he know he told him? Damnit.

"Hmm," He barely sees Raphael's hand as it comes at him—fingers hooked like claws—but dodges just as easily; hopping back a few steps just in time to miss the other hand.

"What the hell!?"

Raphael lunges at him, just as Simon turns to hightail it back up drive and to the garage—to Clary. He goes down without much fight, flipped onto his back and claws were at his neck. Fangs dropped from his jaw and Raphael's eyes shined a bulbous, bleeding red.

"He's no one!"

"Really? Didn't look like no one." Raphael leans closer, taking a deep inhale and sighing. "If he didn't stop you: how far would you have gone for him? Hmm? You probably should have let him do anything; you probably would have 'helped' him, right? Been the more 'experienced' one?"

Simon claws at Raphael's wrist, but he wasn't letting up. Still fangs and claws and terrifying and the gold chain gleaming at his throat.

"I'm _starving. _I just wanted his blood!"

"Possible but unlikely. You forget too quickly, that _I _taught you to hunt." Raphael seethes. "I taught you how to defend yourself, to—"

"Defend myself? Or undermine others?" Simon lengthens his claws and slashes at his chest, ripping at the fabric of the button-up and snagging on the gold chain laying beneath. His fingers curl around it. "Go for the human side, right?"

Raphael's eyes glow. "Human side?"

"Why do you wear it if it hurts you?"

"Training."

"Hn, sure."

"My patience for you runs thin, Daylighter,"

"Okay, so I'm Daylighter now? Okay, whatever, I'll deal." He tugs on the chain for good measure.

"Remember when you told me you loved me?" Raphael whispers to him, teeth shining behind his lips and Simon could feel the blood in his veins turning to ice. "Oh, yes, the renowned little Shadowhunter pet falling for the damned vampire that can say the name of God."

Simon's fingers curl and pull hard—the chain digging into his fingers and Raphael's neck before finally snapping. Raphael lets up and Simon twists, claws digging into the cement until his nails split and bleed, pulling himself up and away and he's free until a hand catches his leg.

The loud crack that echoes tells Simon that its broken.

He screams in pain, eyes flashing red and fangs lengthen in instinct to defend himself. Raphael pulls him back, his nails sinking easily through his skin and hooking onto his flesh—pulling him back into the shadows.

* * *

**The poem Eric and I co-authored was meant to be the header for this story, orginal four verses and four chapters. I decided to lengthen it. If it sucks, it sucks, Eric's poetry sucks anyway. I think its good though. I was reading/marveling _Interview with a Vampire: Claudia's Story _the new graphic novel that tells _Interview with a Vampire _from Claudia's point of view (obviously) and the guys and girls and kids are _all over _Louis XD lol**

**If you like how I protray Clary put your paws up because you were born this way baby!**

**I'm on a sugar withdraw . . . yeah, I'm writing a new TMI fic. It's Clary and Sebastian: if Sebastian lived with Clary and Jocelyn, called _Shooting Butterflies_**

**Some loveydovey!Raphael and scared!Simonnext chapter. **

**Dreamland take me away, and reveiw please.**


	7. your beauty unfolds

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Mid-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **I love angry!love . . .

**Warning| **some suggestive themes *eyebrows* and, well, blood

* * *

_"Soaked in sin—baptized by your kiss and now I'm born again_

_Bite your lip, wrap my hands around your head and pull you in_

_I can't catch my breath—sleep, think, or speak—_

_Yeah, your mojo witchcraft honey—it's workin' on me."_

_—_"Bang" by Armchair Cynics

* * *

They arrive at the hotel: Simon howling in pain and Raphael seething in anger; nothing _too _out of the ordinary. The rest of the clan shares but a few longing stares, some eye rolling, and a few misplaced giggles here and there before going back to whatever they were doing.

They're never on Simon's side anyway.

Raphael drags him up the stairs, head bouncing against every creaking step and brain rattling in his head.

Simon's nails dig deep gouges into the old, damp wood of the foyer into Raphael's bedroom. The elder vampire makes a noise of distaste and wrenches him upward, and stops being a caveman long enough to say, "You can stand now, fool," before shoving him hard against the door. Simon's head cracks against the wood. He bares his teeth and moves to lunge at him—to bury his claws into Raphael's chest, through his soft skin, to his strong bones, to his immortal heart.

Raphael wraps his fingers around Simon's wrists and presses them into the curve of the door, rolling his body into Simon's, immobilizing him with ease. "Let me go!" Simon screams, raising his leg to kick.

"What's the matter, Daylighter?" Raphael's lips curl into a smirk. "Scared of the beast?" His thigh presses between Simon's legs, intimately and with just enough warning to say he'll jerk his knee up just as fast if Simon makes a move he doesn't like. "Does that make you beauty then?"

"Leave. Me. Alone."

Raphael smirks, "Oh, angry? So am I."

His claws draw the length of Simon's palms.

"Why?" hisses Simon, voice growing in volume so that the rest of the coven might hear. "Because your little toy found someone else? Someone he likes better—a human?"

Raphael's teeth flash in warning, but Simon presses on. Might as well dig his grave deeper.

"Are you jealous of him?" Simon muses. "You're jealous of my friend because he's close to me? Or because _I _chose _him_? Because _I _kissed _him. _Because _he _liked it!" His nails begin to ebb into his skin. "And guess what?" By now Simon's voice is a whisper and he's leaning towards Raphael all the while, ready to deliver the finishing blow. "_I liked it too._"

He seizes forward, teeth sinking into the flesh of Raphael's mouth.

He screams and Simon pushes himself forward, his forehead knocks against Raphael's nose. The two scramble apart to right themselves, gasping for unneeded air. Raphael looks feral with his shirt ripped and blood dribbling from his lip and neck. His fangs glitter behind his lips.

Simon flattens himself against the door—trying to breathe, to calm down, to find a way out—but his mind is drawing blanks.

"Damnit," he swears and yanks a hand through his hair. The tips of his fingers are bloody and smell like Raphael—hunger gurgles through his stomach.

Raphael lunges and fights him to the bed, hands ripping at Simon's shirt and jacket. Simon gasps, clawing against his aggressor who's pushing him down with petite kisses and fickle brushes of his hands.

* * *

Clasping wrists, pressing hands, scattering kisses and a little blood here and there: that was their relationship in a nutshell. There were also the rough kisses and stinging bites and lingering touches and telepathic mind barrages.

More so than usual, Raphael seemed to be even more intent on keeping Simon with him.

He was making him nocturnal—arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close in the middle of the day when he usually left. He drains Simon of blood, life and energy—drawing out his pleasure for the sake of keeping Simon far from his own, making him beg for mercy and more.

He kisses him until his lungs feel like they might burst and presses his fingers down on bruises until his skin is tainted with dark purple and red spots where the veins broke beneath. It feels like he's trying to leave an unobtainable permanent mark on Simon's body, tainting it to fit to his liking.

"Relax," Raphael shushes. He has Simon on his stomach, bare beneath him and exposed to the world, Raphael is looming above him in a similar state, pressing bloody kisses into his back.

Simon squirms, but Raphael's nails dig into his thigh—making him cry out and remain docile. His leg aches—though long healed—it's the memory that makes him cringe. "Good," Raphael murmurs against his skin and scratches his teeth up to the flesh of his shoulder to the tip of his ear, Simon sobs. It doesn't hurt much, but enough to make him break. "What? Am I not allowed to bite you?"

Fingers fisting the sheets beneath him, Simon mumbles something into his pillow.

"Wrong answer, Simon_,_" Raphael whispers to the shell of his ear, "I'm allowed to do anything I want to you. Do you know why?—because you're mine."

Raphael sucks a hickey into the skin below Simon's ear, hands roaming, and pulls away only to inspect it—satisfied.

Simon strangles the noise with his pillow—the feeling twisting around his head, branching down his back and pooling in his lower stomach, making Raphael's attentions almost too much to handle. He refuses to show it though.

"Well, what about—?" Raphael trails off and leans down dragging his tongue from the base of his spine to his neck in one thick stripe—his teeth gnaw gently at Simon's nape. The boy under him snivels and his fangs descend into the pillow in an attempt to keep quiet. "You like that don't you?" One of Raphael's hands slip to Simon's hip, feeling the bone of his hip, and using it to guide him onto Simon knees to meet him. "Let me hear it."

Simon can't speak and Raphael mouths obscenely at the teeth marks marring Simon's neck; kissing them until their healed and the skin is ready for new ones.

* * *

Pain and pleasure—Simon's body is burning, barely filled with enough blood to heal himself the bites and cuts dealt to his skin sting in pain with his sweat and he can't move. His skin is burning like razor burn from the inside. His lungs are thinning and clenching.

He's suffocating.

Raphael leans forward, fingers curling into Simon's hair and pushes their lips together in a passionate kiss and, with little persuasion, Simon's lips part and is surprised with the blood slipping between his teeth. Simon drank greedily, in gasps for air and moans—to Raphael's enjoyment.

* * *

"Do you wish to kill me?"

Raphael leaves him alone for an hour and Simon pries the boards of the windows of his bedroom.

"No, I know you and your mind—you will not kill me."

"Shows how much you know people." He says sardonically.

"You'll have to forgive me sometime, Daylighter, might as well be now."

Simon presses himself against the cool glass of the window, trying to remember what sunlight looks like and how warm it was on his skin. He'll be content with the cold, sickly glow of the moon because it reminds him of Maia and how she ran under it as a wolf and Isabelle with the whip she carried that shined like silver bangles on her arm and her moonlight skin.

Two girls, two very different girls he loves.

But loves what got him here.

Loving Raphael is killing him.

Raphael is pouting from across the room, acting as if the last few days haven't even happened and he's as sexually starved as a thirteen-year-old boy they just got denied by his girlfriend—or boyfriend.

_Boyfriend. _

Simon cringes against the glass and forces his eyes on the street below and the bright lights of the homes dotting up and down the street. Crosses and statues of the Virgin Mary stand proudly on display to keep out the damned.

It's useless and his thoughts travel back to Raphael—and the fact that he'll never love him back.

Their nights together were passion, heat and tenderness when the mood took them and sometimes Simon wants to live in those moments forever because in those times Raphael is as diligent and adoring as any lover ought to be. When they're gone, they're gone—maybe that's why he lets Raphael dominate him so easily.

Pining didn't suit him at all, he realizes and a hand closes around his upper arm, spinning him around.

"Come here," Raphael murmurs and pulls Simon to his throat—exposed and waiting. "Take as much as you like, but try and kill me, you'll regret it for the rest of the night."

He hesitates and tries to pull away, but he feels like there are more than Raphael's hands anchoring him there.

_He doesn't love you. He doesn't. _Simon chastises himself and his thoughts. His mind was losing sanity lately anyway. The beast took over while his normalcy retreated. It was the beast—the vampire in him—that makes him submit, that makes him want.

_You can make him love you. _A voice coos from the back of his mind and it sounds like him, but not. This sounds dark and dangerous with flashing eyes and long fangs; a throaty seductive voice belonging to a sleek and dangerous animal.

Simon sighs against Raphael's skin, nuzzling with his nose and breathing in his scent with all his lungs would allow. His lips press down onto Raphael's neck—Simon swears he felt him flinch—and tastes the cool and oddly warm flesh beneath. _Make it good for him, really good. _He draws his tongue out to swipe at the favored patch of skin, to numb it to the coming pain.

Simon lets his teeth slip into the flesh like a knife through butter, the slow ache building in his jaw and the explosion of blood on his tongue is almost enough to make him forgive Raphael for everything. Even for turning him into this.

When he finishes they stare at each other until Raphael pulls him in and kisses him until he's soft and submissive and his hands are gentle.

* * *

They're laying side by side while the sun is coming up over the city skyline (Raphael had already closed the curtains back up—growling while doing so), their arms touching and fingers close enough to lock together, but they don't. Simon laps at the blood on his lower lip and savors the flavor. The blood is clam, willingly given, underlining an emotion he can't place, but must have felt before.

Everything is displaced in his mind, this close to Raphael and he's a mess. It was like everything else seemed to shut off to focus on the one thing his primitive sire bound mind thought important. Watching his sire's body move, the contrast of their skin, his expressions—it's all so overwhelming.

A hand brushes his thigh, making him jump.

"Turn over."

"What?"

"Move," Raphael turns his shoulder and hip, pulling Simon's back against his front and pressing his nose into the curve of his neck between his shoulder and chin—and inhales.

"Um,"

"Go to sleep, _cariño_." His lips move against Simon's shoulder with the words, imprinting them into his flesh for later.

He didn't miss the nickname that much . . .

* * *

**Does Simon seem justified falling in love? Does it make sense?**

**THANK YOU for all the reviews! I love you all so much, my little lovelies! Keep reading and reviewing and loving me loving you with some good ole slashy slashness. I'm in an amazing mood (aside from everyone in charge of my school being assholes for the new 1 to 32 teacher to student ratio for the classroom and the firing of my favorite teacher) my letter grade in math went up and Mr. M gave me a balloon animal. **

**Have an question, suggestion, or commentary: feel free to write in the white box. :D**

**Untangling the feels next chap.**

**Dreamland take me away, and review please.**


	8. we circle back

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Post-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **jealousy, various movies, tunnels.

**Note| **could not find the owner of this song. And if you have any song ideas, let me know.

**Warning| **some abuse and possesive!Raphael

* * *

_"I got the ways and means to New Orleans,_

_I'm going down by the river where it's warm and green_

_I'm gonna have a drink."_

—"Boodletting (Vampire Song)"

* * *

Night comes again, ashes in the place of burning sunlight and Raphael allows Simon the liberty of walking around the hotel while he's out—"_If you're gone when I come back, I will snap your spine."—_however, Simon elects to omit leaving the hotel bedroom on account that the vampires on the other side of the door are bitch mean and like to play pranks on him. And he doesn't really care, but he'd rather not hear the comments they're bound to make on the state of his ass.

So Simon stays in the hotel room waiting for Raphael to return.

He should really bring some books here, hide them under the bed or something—maybe Raphael won't notice.

* * *

The next night is worse and he waits until dusk. Raphael comes back grumpy and his tender skin stained pink from being nearly burned. He says nothing to him and goes straight to bed, pulling the covers over his head like a sulking child.

Simon joins him, slowly peeling away the covers to curl into his side.

Raphael's tense the entire time, but once the sun has fully risen he's melted into the sheets.

* * *

The third night he goes, Simon follows—and feels like a jealous girlfriend from a really bad daytime drama, but that's beside the point because _he's not_!—and Raphael leads his small guard to the darker side of town, overrun by barbwire and chipped caution signs and salty air. He loses them a few times but finds them with his sense of smell (weird) and the two-way sire bond (even weirder).

Before Simon realizes it he's at the club from last week, the one he'd broken Alec's ribs to get to, and basking in the neon red glow that illuminates his face like sunlight, spelling out a word that's barely legiable. Raphael goes in and Simon gives chase through the crowd, eyes following Raphael as he glides effortlessly through the dancers with grace his guards don't possess at the same caliber as he. Simon stumbles along, jumping up like a periscope trying to find them. They go directly for the back door and disappear behind a curtain.

Simon moves to follow them, but a hand fans out—halting him.

"You part of the club?" the bouncer asks and Simon gives him a look, noting the curling upper lip that reminds him of Elvis and how often the vampires at Dumort did that when they thought they were being 'alluring'.

"Wha . . .?"

Abruptly it hit him: he wants to see his teeth.

"Oh," He chews his lip, trying to remember how to elongate them on command, but draws blanks. _Okay, uh, this is embarrassing, _he wants to say. _I swear this never happened before. _

Really he thinks of a platoon of things: being afraid, being in danger, feeding, and on Raphael his jaw starts to ache.

He flashes a fully-fanged smile up at the bouncer and he nods, letting him through.

Inside is even darker than he imagined, and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, to the smoky air and the thick black velvet walls drowning out the music from the club into a dull, background roar. The room seems to have no purpose other than the stairwell leading down into the cellar where everything smells strongly of Earth and blood. _Down the rabbit hole._

* * *

Alright, this was a bad idea.

He's lost Raphael—in fact, he's sure he's gone back to the hotel now—and he can't even find the way out. The cellar turned out to be a series of tunnels, all clustered with vampires of all shapes and sizes but all looking equally dangerous and important. _Leaders, _the primal part of his mind whispers. _Old ones. Coven leaders. _All the tunnels leading to different loations around the city marked with prim, blood-painted signs.

He wanders through the tunnels for a few more hours, trying to figure out how to get back before he realizes he's being followed.

"Hey there, you're new." A wall of silk blue steps in his way and Simon takes a hasty step back, gazing up at the dazzling blue-eyed, blonde-haired vampire. He was beautiful, as they all were, but his beauty was a more delicate kind with features possibly meant for girls or supermodels. He smiles, flashing perfect white teeth and perfect sharp fangs. "What's your name?" He asks and his voice has a faint, beautiful accent. Something from Europe. French? Yes, French.

Simon frowns and thinks, _So perfect all you want to do is destroy it. _

"Simon," he says snappily and cranes his neck, trying to find Raphael over the crowd. The blonde steps in his way again, chuckling to himself.

"I'm Pierre. Pierre Chavulan."

"Well, ain't that something." Simon grumbles and looks around warily again. His breath catches in his throat.

Raphael's there—in the corner by another tunnel door—his coat collar is turned up and he's saying something to the prson behind him, when his head turns and his eyes meet Simon's. He looks furious.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit—run! RUN! _Simon screams to himself but the Pierre has him wedged uncomfortably in between the wall and him. Besides, what would he say when Raphael got back to the hotel? _Super-secret vampire club? No, never heard of it. Must have been my long lost, vampire twin Sigmund. Funny character he is. _Yeah, like that would work.

Wait. Who says _he _has to go back to the hotel?

_Raphael? _Some part of him answers.

_Shut up, you. _Simon snaps.

"Listen—I've gotta go, y'know? Hunting, stalking . . ." he trails off and tries to squeeze out between the velvet wall and the vampire to freedom, but Raphael fills the gape between them and stands there looking like he's pondering the great tortures he's seen in his time. "Oh no,"

Raphael's eyes shimmer under the low-lights and remain steely cold like black ice. _You have no idea, _his voice rips through his mind with the same ferocity someone would apply to kicking in a door. _Now how did you get here? Oh, you followed me, how odd of you. Now who's that?_

Simon's getting flashbacks of the Eric Incident—though he has no qualms with Raphael handing a beating to this guy—he'd rather not see the more possessive side of him now.

"Shut up," Simon says out loud and glances up at Pierre, suddenly embarrassed, but Pierre is staring at Raphael.

"Well, it's been a long time." he says in his French drawl.

"Yes, it has," Raphael murmurs, his head tilts curiously and danger flickers in the depths of his eyes. "My, my what a catch."

"You like him?" Pierre says, laying his hand on the curve of Simon's neck affectionately, his nails scratching at the knap of his neck as if he were a dog. Simon's eyes meet Raphael's in panic. His sire's expression remains even, but his voice holds a lacing of savagery and his fangs glimmer behind his lips.

"Actually, Pierre, this one's mine," Raphael says and all but grabs Simon from Pierre's hand like a child fighting for his favorite toy, and Pierre steps forward draping his arms around Simon in a vice grip. "I think you would find it wise to stand down from fights you know you cannot win, Chauvel-line."

"It's _Chau-vu-lon_," Pierre says irritably as if this were an old argument.

"It matters not," Raphael says and yanks at Simon's arm, but Pierre holds firm, amusement dancing in his blue, blue eyes. "Please remove your hands from _my_ fledgling."

"I believe what's been claimed can be claimed again, by someone new, as you know. You cannot order me for nothing, Santiago." Pierre grins with too-sharp, too-there, too-perfect teeth. "And last time I heard, you didn't run this side of town."

"Oh _really_? Last time I heard, Camille kicked you out of Dumort at dusk without of stitch of clothing on or the rights to your title." Raphael smiles as Pierre's expression begins to fold. "But then again—I'm sure that's just a rumor. As well as Camille leaving the Clan in _my _more capable hands."

"Where's Camille?" Pierre says quickly, Simon can hear the blood pumping quickly in time to his racing thoughts.

"That's none of your concern. She's not in the city. The Clan is mine."

"You lead on with a mockery of a crown," Pierre hisses. "No one shall ever truly follow you."

"Oh will they?" Raphael asks, and Simon cranes his neck back to see the five vampire buffers he brought along with him have leaked from the shadows to join the excitement. The remaining vampires in the tunnel are long gone as well, and doors shut rhythmically around them. "Do me a favor gentlemen and hold him still."

Pierre is pushed down to his knees, arms held out in a parody of a cross and Raphael pulls Simon behind him and stalks towards Pierre, his nails lengthening into claws and Simon could _feel _the rage pouring off his body as well as he could the fear from Pierre's. His hand lays gently across Pierre's face, the pad of his thumb stroking across his chin, before his nails sink into the vampire's pale, luminous flesh and it's like he's ripping apart a memory—every frustration, every feeling, every betrayal in that one single gouge.

"Now, this is going to hurt—immensely."

Simon watches as Raphael yanks the fangs from his mouth, saying he's unworthy of the gifts given to him.

He knows then that they were _involved _at one point of Raphael's eternity.

* * *

"What was that about?"

"Nothing, Daylighter."

"Who was he?"

"No one, Daylighter."

"Why would you tell me anything?"

"Because, Daylighter."

* * *

And Raphael won't speak of it. He says nothing about the super-secret vampire club, or that night, or Pierre—it's as if they slept through two daytimes and everything was a bad dream. And Simon _wishes _it was a bad dream, but Raphael still has Pierre's fangs to prove his deeds. He catches him staring at them more than once the rest of the week between sleeping, feeding, and calling Clary off the landline to confirm her head injury wasn't serious and that he's okay staying at Dumort.

He thinks.

* * *

The Clan had long since successfully infiltrated the flats of Fifth Avenue—where the rich live to play, and champagne runs like rivers and rivers run like blood. They invite themselves and clamor onto demon motorcycles to get to the party under cover of the new moon. Raphael's already straddling his own bike waiting for him. He's wearing his leather jacket and reflective shades like a true greaser from the sixties, but Simon shakes his head, remembering his first time riding one of those things, retorts, "I think I'd rather take a taxi."

Raphael's unamused. "Get. On. The. Bike."

"No," he says and his head is feeling clearer with each passing second. The kind of clarity he had before he became a vampire.

"Simon,"

"Stop it."

"Do you want to eat?"

His stomach rumbles at the thought and his veins press together—all at once—he winces.

"Get on," So he does, but he grips the back of the seat, refusing to touch Raphael more than necessary. He learns that night that Raphael is an angry driver.

* * *

When they get there, the party's on full-swing. People are drinking, grinding, and talking up a storm and there's barely enough room to walk around, but it's perfect. While the others wander off to play, Raphael and him settle straight for the bar—or the innocents around the bar. To make everything look normal, they chat up their respective prey before anything else—something else Raphael taught him—and Simon's surprised how good he is at it. But then it's easy: give talk, eye contact, smiles, and get trust.

They pull their prey up the stairs, to a private bedroom. Simon impudently takes the bed and all but pulls his date onto his lap; his eyes follow Raphael leading his date to the couch. All he remembers next is the rhythmic brushing of lips and the thumbing of heartbeats before his fangs find the girl's throat. She leans boneless against him; Simon's hands steady her waist and back, and his eyes flickered upward finding Raphael in a similar position with his eyes boring into him.

When Raphael pulls away and the man falls from the couch to the floor like he couldn't survive without the vampire's touch. But luckily he's asleep. Raphael leans back looking every bit like a king on a stolen throne, a savage streak of blood trailing down his chin.

* * *

"Why do you want me?" Simon asks once they're settled on the wind ledge; from outside they could hear the party raging and smell the fresh blood lingering on their prey from the bedroom. He swirls his tongue around his mouth, tasting the leftovers of his dinner staining the edges of his teeth.

"You, _cariño, _are dangerous and new to this world. Once more, you have the ability to walk in daylight; something considered taboo to our kind. As your sire, it is my duty to keep an eye on you."

"And you enjoy the perks too?" Simon gives a mirthless grin.

"You're mine," Raphael states this like his name should be branded in bold letters on Simon's forehead. "I will do whatever I will wish you." At that point, Raphael is leaning forward so that he's almost over him and Simon inclines away.

"Mmm-hmm," Simon holds up a hand. "I really need all my blood. I'm going home tonight."

"Why?" Raphael inquires.

Simon falls silent, shuffling his shoes and looking anywhere but Raphael.

"Look at me,"

_I just want to know what happened the other night._

_You're not serious._

Simon tries to keep his frown from deepening and he asks, out loud, "Whose Camille?"

Raphael's teeth grind down, a habit of his when he's trying to keep his fangs from snapping out, and glares at Simon, and the window, and the dark sky like they're the banes of his existence. For a moment, Simon thinks he won't tell him, but finally, he does. "She's the true head . . . of the New York Vampire Coven—I'm her Lieutenant she left in charge."

Simon's worry quells some, but he can hear the tension in his voice.

"And what happens when she comes back?"

Raphael tenses even more if that's possible. "She won't if she values her throat."

A shiver runs down Simon's spine. "What happened?" he blurts and then wants to smack himself. Never ask those questions. Raphael will only shut down.

"Daylighter," Raphael's voice is low warning.

"Seriously, did you come up with that word? It's clever."

"_Simon,_" Raphael shreds his name with his teeth and his eyes flash bloody red, like hunger, like blood, like rage, like the blaze before death. "Never ask me that again."

Simon shrinks back, staring at the cityscape ahead of him and everything the stretches beyond lit up by lights. "You know, you acting like you own me is getting old."

Fast enough to give him whiplash, Raphael's voice snaps back: "What did you just say?"

"I'm not your toy!" he seethes and Raphael fists a handful of Simon's hair, pinning him against the carved-in, cement window ledge. Simon scrambles, back, nails digging into the cement and trying to find purchase on the smooth stone—none.

"Really? Then why are you here, _cariño_?" Raphael asks cruelly, a smile rippling at the corners of his mouth. "Why did you follow me? Why are you _so concerned _for me? Huh? Tell me, why you're here Simon if you're so _tired _and _upset _over the way I treat you? Why are you here?"

Simon tilts his head, his forehead grinding against the wall and evens his expression through the pain. "I _can_ leave you—this life—everything—whenever I want." He says it just like Raphael would, cold and unfeeling and with the way that every word seems punctuated in the air between them. In the way that he almost believes it himself.

"Then why don't you?" Raphael asks quietly, but Simon sees the rage flaring up in his eyes despite his soft voice.

"I don't know . . ." Simon says, suddenly lost and Raphael's bore into his. "I _don't _know."

"Why did you say you loved me?" Raphael ask, fingers clenching into Simon's hair. Simon groans, feeling the stolen blood rushing to his face and the tips of his ears in embarassment. "More attack to my 'human side', isn't it?" His fingers twist painfully and Simon fights back a strangled noise. "Tell me, Daylighter."

_Back to Daylighter, _he thinks mournfully and decides it probably for the best.

"I don't—_ow_! _Because_," Simon hisses and tries to speak around his fangs. "It slipped out."

Raphael's fingers go slack and Simon wrenches back from his grasp, feeling the lingering sting of nails in his scalp and running his tongue over his teeth to return them to normal. They remain, and Simon remains tense, wary that Raphael might lash out again. He feels the familiar buried emptiness he felt when he first dug himself out of his own grave. Loneliness. And he was alone, until Raphael gave him the blood and took him away. He'd been like a parent to a newborn baby, tending to him and grooming him until his mind untangled and the familiarity and loyalty of the clan sunk into his skin and bones, becoming a comfort to him. But unlike a parent to a child, Simon's beast fell in love and his mind fell in fear.

_You've always feared me, _Raphael says, unsurprised.

Simon flinches and Raphael eyes flash with something he can't place again—annoyance? Probably.

"What do you want?" Raphael asks.

"Right now?" Simon side glances the drop hanging out before him. Twenty-two stories and a hell of a landing. "To go home." He slips from the ledge, landing gingerly on his feet to the window two stories below where, ironically, there's another party going on. He casts a glance upward, looking at Raphael who is staring down at him. The still wind picks up and slides through his silken curls ebbed blonde with a halo of light shining behind him.

He feels the sudden urge to say something—anything. The last word, the final last words, but he knew Raphael would probably whisper some dramatic-aside, mile-long monologue bullshit when he was out of earshot.

"Your home should be wherever your sire is."

_See? _Simon slips through the window and into the crowd; ignoring the painful ache in his chest with every step that carries him away.

* * *

"Hello?" Clary's voice is soft and distant over the phone. "Simon?"

"Clary, I need to talk."

He heard her shift, covers throwing back over her bed and her voice is more alert now. "My place or yours?" She says and he hears her shuffling around, looking for shoes.

Trying not to feel like a _complete_ stalker, he raps his knuckles twice on her window and waves when she folds open the curtains. "Yours?"

* * *

**Thank you to **Guest 2 **for the song idea, I loved it. And if any of you have song ideas, tell me, I'd love to hear them :) **

**This chap took a while because so much happens and lingering history and Raphael's secrets and I really think I should re-read the books (first read them two months ago) but I think its time to renew my knowledge, but I will stand with my original plans and ohmigod Simon's gonna have fun next chapter. Notice how he's becoming increasingly more sassy and Simon-ish? Important. **

**BEFORE I FORGET I POSTED MY NEW TMI FIC! THERE WILL BE EVENUTAL SIMON/RAPHAEL IN IT**

**Frustration feels next chap.**

**Dreamland take me away, and review please or no new chapter.**


	9. call my name

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Post-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **i mentioned cat videos, and P!nk. i love her.

**Note| **all P!nk songs on the new album work for simon/raphael.

**Warning| **some crackishness, some could be laziness and/or pure genius, and Taylor Swift songs. Thank you **DrVamp **for that idea.

* * *

_"At the same time, I wanna hug you—_

_I wanna wrap my hands around you neck,_

_You're an asshole, but I love you and you make me so mad."_

—"True Love" by P!nk

* * *

_"And that saddest fear, comes creepin' in. That you never loved me—or her—or anyone—or anything! Yeah!"_

"Why in the _hell _are we listening to Taylor Swift?" Simon mumbles, pushing his fingers into his eyes. Clary shrugs and turns down the volume. "In fact, why are we listening to break up music anyway? Even more so, _why do you have a playlist_?"

"I made it just in case either of us find someone and break up. And when you didn't talk to me for that week of transition . . ."

Simon throws a pillow at her.

"You're not helping me!" He growls and pulls the pillows over his head. Clary retaliates with two more pillows and a shoe.

"Well, you could tell me what's wrong. Or, well," She pulls the pillows off his face and he's staring into pools of green, so wide and curious he's reminded of when they were little; when Clary was the heart of his universe and the reason for everything. In the far side of his human heart, he still loved her; her curly fire-colored hair and bright green eyes, her courage and pretty sketches that pulled him in.

_She's like the girl you killed, _a voice tells him. _She was special for a moment until you needed her no longer. Now she's lying dead somewhere in a sewer. _

He closes his eyes and wills away the voice and thoughts and everything and focuses on being _human. _One-hundred percent human, basking in sunlight and eating potato chips. Human like warm skin and no fangs. Human like not having to drink blood and no creepy voices in his head.

"Do you like him?"

"Ye—wha—no."

Clary's eyes are wide. "You said yes."

"I—oh my—" A burn flared up in his throat and Simon grasped for it, eyes wide and stumbling off the edge of the bed and falling hard onto the floor beneath him. Clary's up almost instantly. Luke doesn't stir in the room next door. "Clary—"

"Oh my god, you _do _like him."

"Sure, rub it in—_you _can say it." He grumbles, sitting up and throwing more bedding that flopped off the floor back onto the bed.

"Simon. You _like _him?"

"Well,"

"Are you serious?"

"Hey! Can't pick and choose."

"Simon, he's dangerous!" Clary's eyes are wide and narrow at the same time like she's caught between shock and glaring at him like he was the idiot. "He could kill you. He already _tried _to."

"No, he just wanted me back . . ."

Clary looks like she's been smacked.

"Do you _hear _yourself?"

"Do you _hear _yourself?" Simon snaps back. "Didn't we have the same conversation about Jace about a month ago? You don't even know Raphael or anything about him! Why are you judging everyone so quickly? It's like all anyone has to do is state their species to you and you suddenly decide if they're good or evil based on if their morals are the same as yours!"

"I—!"

"No! Clary—" he says trying to calm down and thanks everything good and holy left in his life that his teeth are still normal. "Everything's changing. I'm different, you're different. I drink blood and you want to kill things like me."

"Not just you! Not just vampires! Demons, too."

"But you will kill other vampires too won't you? Because they're _evil_? How can you tell they're all evil? Do you know who you sound like?"

Clary gapes at him. He'd mentioned the forbidden subject—her father.

"He tried to kill me because I was a vampire. He knew nothing about me other than that I knew you. You're doing the same thing with Raphael and it's just because he knows me."

"That's not true!" Clary says, her voice is unsteady; she's glaring into the ceiling lamp above his head to burn away tears. "That's not true. That was different."

"Just a little bit. Raphael was the one who turned me—_bam_—he's evil."

"You're the one who said that it's all his fault. You're the one who blamed him."

"I did," Simon admits and tires, tries, _tries _not to look her in the eye lest he'd crumble there. "But I forgave him because he deserves it and he's the only person keeping me alive."

_You really forgive me cariño, truly? _The voice is familiar and wafts through his thoughts like music rising out of a gramophone, soft and melodic with each word shining with its own tune. _Come back to Dumort, if you _love _me so._

_Stop it._

"We could have figured out something. We could have helped you. You don't owe him anything Simon."

_I never liked her. _Raphael muses through his thoughts.

_Quiet. _He says to Raphael and then to Clary, "This isn't because I owe him anything—it's because I've gotten the chance to know him."

_You know, I'm not particularly fond of public displays of affection, or mentioning such things allowed no matter how close the acquaintance is. _

"It's not the same."

"Of course you would say that," Simon mumbles then realizes his mistake. "Oh! Damnit, Raphael! Clary, I didn't mean that. Not to you. I was—"

"He's talking to you?"

"Well—yeah,"

_Well, at least she's smart. Somewhat. Aside from her failing love life, that seems to be her only redeeming feature._

* * *

The next day, he's back at his house on his laptop pretending to do homework while his mom cooks dinner. Clary left before he woke up the night before without a note or text, but Luke was shaking his head slowly and sipping his coffee before heading out to visit Jocelyn in the hospital.

"Okay, everyone hates me now." He says to himself and goes home to visit him mom—and face her wrath—and spent the rest of the day in his room sleeping and sipping at old blood bags and listening to her crying over the phone to his aunts wondering where she went wrong.

_You went wrong nowhere, mom. _He wants to say, but stays hidden.

* * *

Isabelle texts him later.

**From: Isabelle  
To: Mundane-Boy**

_OMG! The sexual tension is suffocating here! Come over._

**From: Mundane-Boy  
To: Isabelle**

_magnus and alec over? No pple don't like me today._

_hey, i'm not human anymore_

**From: Isabelle  
To: Vampy-Mun-Boy**

_no, worse_

_better? then can u change my name? can we pick out names?_

**From: Vampy-Mun-Boy  
To: Six-Inches**

_who? Is that faerie guy still there?_

_me no like :( and no_

**From: Six-Inches  
To: Raph's Pet**

_noooooooo. _

_Well played lewis, well played. But I can do better ;) _

**From: Raph's Pet  
To: Fey's Bitch**

_who?_

_i'll bite you_

**From: Fey's Bitch  
To: TheVampireLewis**

_Clary and Jace, omg. They've been not lookin at each other for the last 20 mins_

_rawr, someone woke up on the wrong side of the coffin. Come over. _

**From: TheVampireLewis  
To: Izzy**

_R u serious?_

_I don't know . .. _

**From: TheVampireLewis  
To: Izzy**

_AND I DON'T SLEEP IN A COFFIN!_

**From: Izzy  
To: Simmy**

_just come over Lewis ;)_

* * *

The city's dangerous at night—even for a vampire—so he takes the a cab to the Institute, which is unfortunate for him because the cabbie seems to think he's a tourist of some sort and has been trying thus forth to fill him in on the history of the city he grew up on. Simon's slowly considering compelling him to give him a free ride because this is not worth whatever he's going to have to pay for this ride plus tip since he's already embellished on the fact that he has kids.

_Simon. Simon. Simon._

"No, screw you." The cabbie looks up and Simon's meets his eye through the mirror. "Silence from you would be nice, too."

_"—I knew you were trouble when you walked in! So, shame on me no-ow!"_

Simon nearly jumps a foot in the air, clawing at his pocket for his phone and glances up at the cabbie who's judging him with his eyes.

"Nice ringtone."

"Shut up." He glances at his phone to find the name displayed across it. **The Bastard**. Okay, was that Jace or Raphael? Didn't Raphael break his phone last week? He answers anyway. "What?"

"Simon_,_" Raphael drawls and his voice makes him shiver. "Come back to Dumort."

The direct command feels like a jab between the ribs. "No,"

"_Cariño, _listen to me. It's a very dangerous world out there and with twelve dozen of Mister Chavu-line's finest roaming the city I don't think you would be strong enough to fend them off on your own. They are, after all, looking for you."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't know—something about you being able to walk in daylight and now everyone knows."

"My, dear Lord Santiago is that sarcasm I hear in your tone?"

"Well, I've caught you in a mood." Raphael muses.

"I'm not coming back to Dumort."

"Aw, is it because I didn't buy you flowers? Did forget your birthday?" Raphael is smiling, he can feel it. "But serious you should come back here: it's for your own safety."

"Nope," Simon says popping the 'p' with more zeal than necessary. "I like to breathe the fresh air and freedom to go where I please every now and again, thank you."

"You're at your mom's house aren't you?" Raphael asks, sounding confused.

". . ."

"Simon," Raphael mutters tiredly. "I think it time for you to choose."

"Choose what?"

"What kind of life you want to live. Now, do you want to spend the rest of your life, hiding who you are from your dear _madre_? Or do you want to live as who you are—who I made you to be. It's the life you've chosen to lead." Raphael's voice is smooth as silk; Simon knows that as his negotiation voice he uses to get something he wants, or whenever he's trying to make a point—which is always.

_Not this time bastard, _Simon steps out of the cab, slamming the door a little too roughly and throwing a wad of bills towards the driver's open window. He's a block away from the Institute.

"No, there's a third option and there always is."

"What?"

"Death."

Raphael pauses for a long moment; when he speaks again his voice is firm and neutral. "You aren't serious, I know you aren't."

"Oh, really?" Simon brings his voice to a mocking girly pitch that he knows will annoy the hell out of him. It covers his own worry a little too well. "Guess we'll just have to wait and find out by dusk tomorrow won't we? Now, goodbye creepy sire."

"Simon!" He's about to hang up—his thumb is still hovering over the END button—and the illuminated screen makes it seem as if nothing is easier, but to Simon it feels like cutting a life line. There was something in Raphael's voice that made him pause every time. "They'll kill you; they're not going to show half the mercy I did."

"I'll be fine." Simon bites out. "You can't make me do this. I don't need your help and I don't need you!"

* * *

No sooner than he hung up, _no _sooner, he pockets his cell phone and a body lunges out at him front between two parked cars and Simon screams. His claws and fangs elongate to fight, but the other vampire is already equipped for battle. Grabbing at Simon's wrists and holding him in a vice from behind.

Simon, in panic, thrashes and slams his head back into the vampire's mouth. Hard enough to scrape his teeth into his scalp and draw blood. Simon wiggles free a little more, jumping and scratching, hissing.

He holds his nails like hooks—like Raphael taught him—like he would cleave the flesh from a bone at any given moment. He pulls his lips back from his teeth, which isn't the most attractive smile, but kept him from biting his lips. "Never fight with your fangs, it's a losing battle." He remembers. "If you can get your attacker to the ground, or in any secure position then it would be acceptable."

He lunges, hooks going straight for the vampire's eyes, neck, and stomach: any weak or vulnerable point.

They go back and forth for a few minutes, knocking each other aside and around, but the other vampire proves to be the better fighter and manages to get his hands around Simon's neck, pressing his claws in and increasing in pressure, harder and harder until the tendons and muscles in his neck began to stretch. And they break his skin, sinking into slowly until the tips of his claws are dancing on the tissue of his wind pipe. Simon gasps and goes still as still can be, holding on to the other vampires arm and rising onto his tippy toes while the other rises to stand.

"I think now would be the time to say: 'I need an adult'."

Of course, Jace would show up. The vampire's claws rip from his neck.

* * *

When he comes to Jace pops his shoulder back into its socket before pulling the stake loose from the vampire's back. "Now next time the Head of the New York Vampire Coven offers you help: take it."

Alec slips out from the shadows, holding his bow in a ready position with two fingers steadying the feathered end and Isabelle appears beside him with her whip, looking much more relaxed and unfazed by the vampire blood splattered across her clothes. "We've been killing these things all night."

Simon frowns.

"You know what I mean!"

"Doesn't matter," Simon mutters and glances down at the bloody remains of the vampire at Jace's feet. "Didn't you just text me to come over?"

"Yeah, you were taking a while."

"Do you know who those guys were?" Alec asks.

"Yeah . . . Hey, have you heard of a guy called Chavu-line?"

"What kind of name is Chavuline?"

"Chavulon," Isabelle corrects. "It's a long held joke in the play _the Scarlet Peppermill. _That's the name of the French 'keeper of the peace' that no one likes. His ex-lover's husband gets his name wrong on purpose to tick him off."

_Woe to similarities. _

"Pierre Chavulon—have you heard of him?"

"Nope. Why? These guys his?"

"Yup."

"And why are they after you?" Jace inquiries.

"How do you know they're after me?"

"So they are." Jace grins and tilts his head towards the corpse. "What'd your boyfriend do to piss of the master?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Simon mutters. "He . . . er, he ripped his fangs out."

All three stare at him.

"Dude, you're in love with a nut job."

* * *

They take him to the Institute and Clary's there, dressed for bed and looking sleep-deprived as ever, but her eyes widen when she sees him.

His clothes are torn and his hair's a mess and a necklace of blood and bruises still circle his healing throat. "I'm showering," he says to no one in particular and heads towards the bathroom, past Clary and Isabelle's mom.

Alec calls after him, "Do you still have those pants I let you borrow?"

"Or did your boyfriend rip those too?" Jace calls.

"No and no. My mom found them and she asked me if I was gay—before I could answer she burned them."

* * *

Three days pass and Simon is sitting at the Institute with Clary and Jace—trying to ignore the sexual tension elephant in the room Isabelle told him about—and banging his head against the desk because it stopped hurting an hour ago. Clary says nothing and continues to doodle in her book and stare off into space and Jace looks like he's trying very hard to ignore her—as was Simon, but he was succeeding.

"What now? Is he making you bodily injure yourself?" Jace asks anything to divert his attention from Clary.

"No," Simon moans and rolls his head across the desk to look at him. "It doesn't work that way. He can talk to me—whenever he wants—he knows what I'm doing and he can read my mind, but he can't make me do things."

"Ah, so you broke Alec's ribs willingly then."

"Is he mad about that? I thought Magnus healed him."

"Any excuse he can take to touch him." Clary adds helpfully.

"Not my fault—sire bond. I was crazy, the sun was down, Raphael was awake."

"Well," Jace says with a little huff. "The sun's down now—where is Mister Irresistible?"

"Jace—!" Clary hisses and elbows him sharply.

Simon pretends not to see and rolls his head back to look out into the grey evening air. "I don't know . . ." he says.

* * *

**So this is what it's come to. I sit down to write angst that will make you freakin' sob, but I write crack. The odd combination of Marilyn Manson and cat videos ladies and gentlemen. *claps* Oh, and I was watching _Sherlock. _Benedict—freakin'—Cumberbatch. There's a man. **

**Okay, I _like _Clary. Think about it, if you open the book with the mindset that she has (evil is evil and good is good) and no magic or really any of the thoughts or alternative points of view any of us had: she'll continue thinking that way. Her father (who she didn't know she had) kidnapped her mother and all she hears are all these horrible things—she's not going to believe him. She's stubborn in a way that when she has her mindset on something it will stay that way. She's _learning _this from Jonathan in the last book (which I loved) and she's understand and maybe even a bit of empathy (we're not all Will Graham, we all can't do that). Her world was black-and-white, but parts of Simon and Valentine and Jace and Jonathan smear that into the grey area where they exist. So, ha. Nailed her character. ;D**

**Next chap: the fate of Raphael's necklace and Simon's mom**

**Dreamland take me away, and review please or no new chapter.**


	10. kiss and control

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Post-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **i'm an idiot and i'm surrounded by good writers and I suck. Blah.

**Warning| **some language, some adult situations, lust, manhunts, necklaces, Raphael's bitch face, Simon's word vomit, Mama Lewis pissed, Simon and Raphael contemplate why people say I love you, i'm on crack.

* * *

_"Testing, testing I'm just suggesting  
You and I might not be the best thing—  
exit, exit, somehow I guessed it—right, right  
But I still want ya, want ya."_

—"Haven't Had Enough" by Marianas Trench

* * *

Clary and him don't apologize to each other, everything they said they meant to say and neither would take it back. Clary thought Raphael was dangerous and that Simon should stay away, but he couldn't. In the darkest, and lightest, parts of his mind Raphael had rooted himself there firmly and would never let Simon's heart go for he was his, his, his and he would not share.

And to put it fairly, he didn't agree with Clary's one-dimensional track of thought.

"Are you going with us?" Clary asks as she shoves clothes into her open suitcase. All around is a abstract sprawl of tee shirts, jeans, a rare dress, and a range of shoes.

Simon shakes his head. "No, I think I've had enough craziness for a while. I'll just sit this little escapade out and deal with the obvious."

"Your mom?" she asks with a wince because _she knows _how his mom gets and how badly all this could escalate if he said or did the wrong thing.

"Yeah . . . she thinks I'm going to be expelled, or on hard drugs, or something."

"That's the least of her problems," Clary's mouth twists. "Does Raphael—has she seen him yet?"

Simon gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "So far he's only met her a few times—not that she remembers—he compelled her not to call the cops, but not the fact that I was gone. He doesn't make everything easy for me."

"He's trying to bully you out of your own house?" Clary asks, her voice going up a bit in outrage.

"No, he's trying to make me compel her on my own." Simon exhales through his teeth. "He gave me the whole 'I'm not gonna hold your hand just because I'm your sire' speech. Trying to make me expect everything I am, and what I'm not anymore and blah, blah, blah—yeah, all that vampire crap. It's like I'm in some support group for vampiric self-acceptance."

Clary tilts her head to the side like she's trying to figure something out, but shakes it off. "Could I just ask—why do you even like him then?"

"'Cause I appreciate the little slap to the face wakeup call every now and then."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Simon asks when he finds Raphael standing on his front porch that night in a halo of orange light. He's still wearing his leather jacket and his face his flushed from having just fed, but it could easily be mistaken for cold to anyone who didn't know.

"There are no humans inside," he says like it answers everything.

"Uh, yeah, my mom's at work. Why are you here again?" Simon pulls the door closer to his shoulder; blocking Raphael's chances of getting inside. "Not that I'm, well, actually I'm not all that happy to see you—why are you here?"

Raphael's expression is neutral when he pushes the door open and strides into the house, glancing around like he'd never seen the inside of an apartment before. "I want to speak with you."

"If this is about the vampires—well, I lived."

"Obviously," Raphael murmurs like he was a nuisance and Simon's eye twitches at the forlorn tone of his voice. "But not about that."

"Or the reason you were at that club . . .? No. Okay, what about Pierre. Who the hell is he and why'd you take his teeth?"

"Not that either." Raphael shakes his head.

"Then what could there possibly be to talk about?"

Raphael pulls his hand from his jacket pocket and opens his palm, there's a spiral of gold with the cross lying on top of it. The skin around it was blistered with red bleeding out between his fingers. It's Raphael's necklace. "You broke it, you should fix it." He drops it into Simon's hand and stares at his unscarred palm enviously. "Since you can touch it."

* * *

So, that's how Simon ended up spending his Tuesday night fixing Raphael's gold cross with a pair of pillars and a how-to video on YouTube. He's actually kind of good at it. And while he works, Raphael survives his apartment from the chair next to him, drumming his fingers across the hardwood table and scratching at the back of his neck lazily.

"So, why not scare the hell out of a jeweler and get this done professionally?"

Raphael inclines his head to stare at him, his expression blank as new fallen snow and his mouth a firm line. He wasn't going to answer.

"Are you just doing this to keep things interesting, or . . . ?" Simon prods, leaving his sentences to trail off and Raphael continues to ignore him. "Look are you always this neurotic when it comes to relationships, or is it just me?"

"Relationships?" Raphael's nose turns up.

_Shit._

"Deals, arrangements, whatever. Sire bond talking—shut the hell up." Simon growls and shakes his head and pinches the tweezers; noting Raphael's flinch. "Calm down I'll fix your stupid necklace. I've done this before for my sister."

"It is not a 'stupid necklace'." Raphael says, his voice something akin to whine well still sounding like he would rip Simon's throat out at any given moment.

"Rosary, then."

"It's not a rosary either, it doesn't have beads."

"So it's a necklace then?"

They lapse into silence again until Simon hears the telltale slam of a cab door outside. In which case, he drops everything and strains his ears to hear. "Ah, my mom's home." Simon jumps up and grabs for Raphael's arm. "Get in my room."

Raphael gives him a look like _seriously? _and doesn't move.

"I'm not supposed to have people over, okay? Go!" Simon corrals the other boy towards his room.

"Simon, I'm a sixty-eight year old vampire and the current head of the New York coven," Raphael hisses and yanks his arm back from Simon. "And you want me to _hide _because of a _human _woman?"

Simon hears the key turning in the lock.

"Yes!" He all but shoves Raphael through the door, not sparing a glance as Raphael goes sprawling across his bed. "Stay there, shut up. If you come out here: I'll—"

"You'll what?"

Simon flushes before his eyes harden in determination. "Or I'll tell Lily that you sing _Grease Lightening _in your sleep."

And then he slams the door.

* * *

When he comes back in his room, his pockets are full of gold chains and tools. Raphael is stilling on his bed looking unimpressed as always when he's somewhere that's not his beloved Du Mort and glances at him. "She had to go to sleep early; she works in the morning and again at night. It's a weekly thing, she wouldn't have even noticed you if you were lying in bed with her." He jokes but hopes Raphael's not willing to test that theory.

Raphael stares at him for a long moment as if he's deciding something and his lips part, "Where do you get off telling people you love them?"

"What?" Simon blinks for several seconds.

"Well, the Shadowhunter girl, Clary, the Shadowhunter girl again, the shewolf, and then me."

He flushes, embarrassed. "I—I never told Isabelle and Maia I loved them."

"Details," Raphael waves his hands absently. "Anyway, is it some fetish of yours to just tell people you love them before you have sex with them, or at least try to? Why do all you humans do that?"

"Okay, weird question time." Simon singsongs and lowers himself into his computer desk chair adjacent from Raphael, fiddling with the gold chain in his hands. "Well, you were human to you should know that—okay? No? Been too long? Uh, well, I guess people tell each other _I love you _before they, yeah, because they want to remind them that it means, that _they _mean, more to them than just physical contact."

Raphael stares at him and his brows draw together. "Daylighter—"

Simon's mind winds before him, reminding him that he's seen this movie before and he lets out a bark of laughter because it's all too _ohmygod _cliché and awkward for him to even consider. "Is this where you say that I don't really love you and that it's all the sire bond talking and making me feel this way?"

"I . . ." Raphael's expression turns quizzical and then his eyes roll, hard in their sockets. He looks close to murder. "Simon, stop watching _The Vampire Diaries._"

"You have to admit they get something's right."

"I will _burn _your DVR."

"Back to what you were saying," Simon veers back to the subject because he knows Raphael would burn his DVR _and _the TV to prevent him from ever enjoying the most accurate vampire show out there. Although he did have qualms with the plot, the thought of Raphael ceremoniously burning his electronics in a fiery rage was unexpectedly more entertaining than he thought.

He shifts under Raphael's gaze and relaxes only when it lowers and he feels the courage for something daring work up in his throat. Raphael starts talking again, his voice low and dangerous and Simon knows he's probably going to slowly raise his head and glare at him in a way that will make him sob like a three year old denied candy. "If I hear _one more _vampire pop-culture reference from you again, I swear I'll—"

"But truthfully, I _do _care about you. Regardless."

The silence between them is heavy and almost plausible twisting in Simon's stomach, he blinks away the look of hopelessness in his eyes and watches Raphael slowly inhale and exhale.

His mind attacks and organizes a manhunt for his impulsive behavior with the highest bounty imaginable so that not even Lust or Sympathy would bother trying to hide the fend from the wrath of Common Sense who would murder him in cold blood.

Raphael makes a gesture and Simon flinches.

"Just . . ." Raphael his gaze zeros in on Simon's hands. "Fix it, please."

"Right. Of course," Simon spins his chair to the desk and flickers on the light over the bright gold. "Working on that . . ." He moves around the tools for a while, trying to sort out his thoughts and look like he's working so Raphael would say anything. His fingers brush the cross again and he gazes at the simple gold cross in his palm wondering why something so simple meant so much to a damned soul.

It wasn't cheap, that much was obvious, and it was old too, but well taken care of and Raphael always wore it no matter if it burned him or not. He'd never really taken the time to think it through, or for the fact that since he broke it Raphael still carried it around.

"It was a gift?" he asks without thinking and expects a stony silence behind him followed by a physical hit of some sort for bothering to ask the question, but Raphael is full of surprises tonight.

"Yes,"

* * *

"Well, I guess you're spending the night." Simon mutters, watching as his mother hurries out to the cab waiting for her at the corner. Once she's safely inside, he shuts the heavy black-out curtains against the meager sunlight streaming through the window.

"Seems that way." Raphael toes off his shoes onto the floor and glares furiously at the window like his glare alone could make the sun sink back and pull the moon up in its wake for him. "_I lost track of time_ doesn't exactly work with the coven. They'll be looking for me after sunset."

"Do you want to call them?" Simon offers but Raphael waves his hand. "Do you remember their numbers?" He tries again, Raphael glares so he knows he's right.

"They won't be that worried."

"Okay, whatever." Simon shuffles for the door. "G'night."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go sleep in my mom's room. I spent all night fixing your necklace, I'm tired and I need a few hours."

"We've slept in the same bed before."

"Dude, no. My mom can walk in." Raphael's hand slides to the bend of his elbow, pulling him down to lay beside him on the bed.

"Listen for her then. You only need _a few hours_." Raphael repeats.

"I don't know where you think you're getting any. You must be _very _bad at reading signals."

"Who said anything about sex?" Raphael asks and curls into the blankets like he always does at Du Mort and presses his face against the pillow. "Go to sleep _cariño_."

* * *

Simon wakes to noise.

Daylight peeks through the windows and when he stretches out he realizes that Raphael is still there lying beside him. He folds himself up into the blankets and pinches his eyes, trying to remember something from early this morning. Something important.

They talked and then they slept together.

Not _slept, _but actual sleeping-next-to-each-other, no touchie-touchie, sort of Boy Scout platonic sleeping bag sharing. Wow, development.

Footfalls echo through the apartment and Simon bolts upright when he hears the feet stop just at his door.

"Simon?" his mother calls and he could almost swear his heart jump started just by the sound of her voice. "Simon!" The doorknob twists hard in her grasp and jiggles and bounces. "Unlock this!"

He scrambles out of bed to do so.

His mother's standing at the door, her dark brown eyes—the same as Simon's—were pinched into a fuming manifestation that would make a werewolf turn tail and run for its life. It's the same look she gave him when he started coming home late and staying out more and that time he ate the lasagna she was going to give to their neighbor who just lost a son in Iraq.

"I just got a call from the school," she says slowly but Simon can hear the dangerous venom dripping into her voice as her voice grows louder and angrier like a runaway feign train. "And they told me that _you_ weren't in school today. So, I thought to myself, _no there has to be a mistake _because I know that you remember our agreement about you going to school. So, I call you and call you and call you and _you _don't answer and I start getting worried, so I _take off _from _work _to come home and find you here at twelve thirty-five when you should be in Calculus. "

He keeps his mouth shut and his mother crosses her arms over her teddy bear scrubs.

"Where were you today?" she asks, voice still low and dangerous.

"I—I was here," he says softly and a lump forms in the back of his throat. "I thought it was Saturday."

"Simon, I saw Clary leaving this morning. You two always walk together."

_Doesn't mean she's going to school. _He considers sardonically and makes a mental note to ask her later about that Jace again and their brother-sister shocker news. There was one more day before they went to Idris so it would have to be soon.

"What are you hiding in there?" Her eyes narrow.

"What?" His fingers reflexively tighten around the door.

"Open your door."

"Mom, it's nothing. My room's a mess; I haven't had a chance to clean. Seriously, you would not believe the pile up of dishes and—"

And for all his vampire strength was worth, his mom shoves open the door and sees Raphael is there still lying on his bed tangled in his sheets with his shirt unbuttoned and snoozing away the daylight hours in his dead sleep.

"Mom," Simon's mind raced for an excuse, suddenly realizing how bad this all looks. Especially when his mom already thought this had something to do with sex with the bite marks, Alec's pants and now finding a boy in his bed. "Ah, this isn't what it looks like—this is my friend—"

That statement only seemed to act like gasoline to the fire.

His mother shoves past him to the bed and yanks the covers off—Raphael doesn't stir—and she starts screaming.

"Get out! Get out of my house! Simon Lewis, you are in so much trouble!" Simon feels something in him shift while he watches his mother reach for Raphael to shake him awake. Where on one hand he knows the chances of Raphael actually waking up are slim to none and he'll flash his fangs at best, but there's a constant little nagging building in the back of his mind that pumps through his blood and makes the mantra of _protectprotectportect _the only thing he can hear over the screams spilling past her lips.

So, when he does jump and grab his mother's arm, he's at a loss of what to do other than to lock eyes with his mother and start talking.

"Mom. Mom," He says slowly reigning in her attention, he tries to speak slowly, annunciate every word and be as calm as possible. He can feel his mother's heart rate slowing already from his grip on her wrist. "I'm sick and I'll be out of school till Monday next week, you'll call the school and tell them that. Right? Okay. Raphael is only here because he heard that I was sick—there is nothing weird or unplatonic about that—in fact, forget he was ever even here. He's not important. Just go back to work, and don't come back to check on me, I'll be fine. I am fine. You don't need to worry about me."

He waits several second before letting his mother's wrists go and listens to her heart drum out a steady tempo. Then she steps past him to the door and continues her way through the apartment, grabbing her purse and keys before leaving. Simon waits until the front door shuts before he dares to breathe again and shuts his bedroom door behind her.

He goes back to the bed and sits down, waiting for darkness.

* * *

When Raphael wakes he tells him what happened and Raphael makes a comment on how nice it was for him to cover him back up with the blanket. "I'm serious," Simon mutters into his palms. "It made me sick. The fact that I could . . . control my own mother— and she just—she just did what I said, like a character in a video game."

Raphael makes a noise like he's annoyed and kicks his legs free from the sheets. "That's compulsion and its one of the many abilities you now possess as a vampire. You were bound to use it sooner or later." Simon doesn't answer. "Well, isn't it nice that she didn't drag my unconscious body out onto the sun and watch me combust into flames? I think that's genuinely an agreeable development."

"I don't want to ever have to do that to her again."

Raphael kneels to eyelevel with him, hands pressing into his knees with the telltale pinpricks of claws and his gold cross dangling from his neck, searing his skin almost as fast as it heals. "Then you have to learn that with the way your life is now, that you cannot drag the people who don't belong to our world into it. You are a vampire, once human, but a vampire now. You live to serve me and wander the night."

Simon's throat clenches at the thought of leaving home and never coming back again. "I don't want to think about it."

"You cannot continue to put this off."

"It's not a choice I'll make overnight."

"It doesn't matter. You will have to make it soon anyway."

_Want to bet? _A sweet seductive voice whispers against his ears and takes the reins of Simon's body.

He knows one way he can.

Simon presses his lips to Raphael's again, feeling the puzzle pieces in his mind come together as more seem to unravel. The beast inside him purrs in approval, with little hints of _yes, just like that _and where to put his hands. He breathes and curls his tongue to his sire's. Raphael sinks with him, pressing his hands to Simon's hip and the skin beneath his shirt.

"You can't charm your way—" Raphael starts, but Simon shoves him down onto the bed, silencing him with his lips. "_Ca_—" Simon catches Raphael's bottom lip between his teeth, kneading it between his fangs and lapping away at the blood that rose against his broken skin. His nails dig into the band of Raphael's pants, skimming his claws across his abdomen.

Finally, Raphael gives a little and reaches his fingers under Simon's shirt, spreading them across his abdomen and tugging up the material. As they continue it becomes increasingly clear that this isn't just for Raphael's benefit to shut him up, but Simon could use the distraction as well. Just some flesh on flesh, taste of blood, something to make him forget who he was—who he used to be—everything and to concentrate on something as simple yet electrifying as Raphael's mouth.

* * *

Raphael lets him dominate which is surprising and scary for both of them, but Raphael lays docile—for the most part—watching Simon and forcing himself not to move.

"Why do you flinch?" he asks.

"You're a terrible kisser." Raphael says half-heartedly and Simon drops it.

He kisses Raphael's neck softly, palms pressing into his sides, riding up his shirt and filling the spaces between his ribs with his fingers—mapping a new trail of his flesh. Simon presses kisses to his eyes and nose and cheeks and anywhere he can reach, the skin is familiar beneath his lips but he wants to taste it like the first time, all over again, no hurry.

"_Cariño,_" Raphael hisses and bites back a groan to strangle in his throat when Simon's lips trail down his sire's chest, placing kisses like stepping stones. "Simon—!"

He leans up abruptly and Simon's fingers flex against his waist, thumbs pushing against the bookmark indents of his hips. He leans up, coming nose-to-nose with Raphael and smiles. "Relax,"

It surprises Simon when he does, even more so when he relaxes back into the mattress as Simon reconstructs the trail he'd been making, skipping off to Raphael's left hipbone, he presses his lips to the soft skin above it and, without numbing it to the coming pain, slowly ebbs his fangs through the muscled tissue and drawing out a low strangled noise from the vampire below him.

_So this is control, _Simon realizes and takes joy in the taste of pleasure riddling Raphael's blood.

* * *

"So, your choice is _this _over a once five-star hotel?"

"Well, yeah. Here: my home, my stuff, my mom, and no rats."

Raphael winces. "There are no—"

"_Huge _rats. Don't you deny it, you saw that thing."

"_Cariño, _that was a familiar playing a prank. Nothing compared to what lived there when we first moved in."

* * *

_Nothings really resolved yet, _Simon thought as he filled his water glass in the sink. The sun was starting to crawl its way up the horizon again and Raphael is long gone, needing to check in with the others he's nearly frantic to get back in time. Simon knows he's there when the harebrained, knot in the back of his mind begins to loosen and settles into thousand thread sheets.

_Sweet dreams, _he calls out but hears nothing back in return and makes his way back to his room, cuddling the water against his lips and happy for the sated hunger in his stomach. Though he had torn through half the blood bags in his closet for more, he had taped a vein from Raphael for something fresher.

When he walks into his room and about to turn on his TV something in the window catches his eye, a folded up slip of paper double tapped on the glass. For a moment, he hopes that it's some vampire summoning whatnot, but is disappointed with Jace's annoyingly neat scrawl.

_Simon,_

_Meet me at the Institute at 8._

_Don't tell Clary_

_—Jace_

_P.S., we all saw Raphael leaving through your bedroom window._

Why does Clary like him again?

* * *

**Thank you all who review and/or read this story still. **

**So this took longer than I thought it would. Sorry bro. Things came up. People tried to run me over with golf carts. Since I'm the least scariest girl at my place of employment, I get to run the ice cream cart outside and everyone in the restaurant has to pay homage to me with drinks and tips, muwahah. And I went to a concert and met Alex Goot, Sam Tsui, and the band King the Kid. They're so cute.**

**Sorry. They did stuff. I was going to take it back but I felt like . . . er, my shipper heart. Damn. Yeah. But they talked. And Simon's mom was there, and it's late or early and I need to wake up with my alarms. So. Night. **

**Next Chap: Simon can't stay out of trouble and him and Raphael act like angry boyfriends. **

**Dreamland take me away, and review please or no new chapter.**


	11. a little pain

**Title | **Take this Blood  
**Genre| **romance/horror  
**Rating| **T for blood and death  
**Fandom| **TMI  
**Timeline| **Post-CoA and Pre-CoG  
**Couple| **Raphael/Simon

**Inspiration| **i'm tired and I wanted to write

**Warning| **some language, some torture, some implied, some incest-shipping, some blood, some crack, some slang, more evidence of the crack I don't take but I must be, Alec's entrance, some children talk, some child threatening, some mild-Sebastian/Russia humor, mild-Sebastian, I don't own this book, this is all from memory, i'm sorry

* * *

_"From the dawn of time to the end of days—  
I will have to run, away  
I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste  
of the blood on my lips, again—"_

—"Iron" by Woodkid

* * *

"Clary."

"Clary?"

"Clary," says Jace and Simon doesn't miss how the word seems to carry on a life of its own as it twists artfully from his mouth and hangs in the air like a curl of smoke. "You know: short, redheaded, bad temper."

Simon rolls his eyes and wonders why the hell he's even here. After an impromptu shower and helter-skelter tying-to-get-clothes-on-his-body and running here, all Jace seemed to be doing was talking circles around him for the hell of it.

"I don't see how Clary is something we have in common," He scratches at the back of his neck with too-sharp nails and glances back to the others through the ivy. After his short tumble 'out of the closet', so to speak, talking about his short-lived relationship with Clary made him uncomfortable to say the least. Clary and him were okay, not much since they haven't actually _talked _about it, but just enough to where they could still be friends through everything else. Furthermore, if he hadn't even bothered with this conversation with Clary why would he talk to _Jace_?

Wasn't there something ruling against this in the bro code?

"We both care about her," Jace says seemingly weighing the words against his tongue, as if he spent all morning trying to choose the right ones to say. Simon raises a brow. "She's important to both of us. Right?"

"You're asking _me_ if I _care_ about her?"

He watches Jace's jaw set and prepares himself for the swords of sarcasm to issue. "Don't think I like asking you these questions," Jace growls strained. "I need to know what you'd do for Clary. Would you lie for her?"

Simon glances back at the garden, resentful and then back at Jace. "Wait a minute; you're leaving now aren't you? Oh, so you are—Clary thinks you're leaving _tonight._"

Through the thinly veiled anger, and some plots to possibly call Clary, Simon watches Jace and listens with his thumb poised over speed dial. His voice was pleading as he spins his plan for Simon to lie to everyone in order for them to leave Clary behind. He says he wants to protect her, to shield her from the Clave who would use her powers, he asks Simon to trust him. Of course, to get all this out of him, Simon had to do some (somewhat) impressive backlashing of his own.

Simon shakes his head.

Jace's expression twists like the paintings of archangels that leapt from the Heaven to come rein hell down on their enemies. "You want them to have her? To put her on the front lines, up against Valentine and whatever army he's raising?"

"No," the answer falls immediately from his lips and Jace's mouth twists. He can imagine it himself—a shadowy battlefield, bad on one side good on the other, Valentine tall and snowy haired, decked in Shadowhunter black adjacent from Clary with a mess of red curls and her runes as her best, and only, defense. But in his mind, he's right beside her with Jace and Isabelle and Alec. Ready to fight tooth-to-nail. "I don't want that. But I'm not one of you. I don't have to ask myself who to put first, Clary or my family."

Jace flushes darkly against his tan skin. "It's not like that. If I thought it would help the Clave—but it won't. She'll just get hurt—"

"Even _if,_" Simon cuts his off, unable to ignore the little twinge of pride he feels for doing so. "You would never let them have her."

Jace's lips part. "What makes you say that, vampire?"

Simon almost wants to roll his eyes. He would never escape the nicknames that follow him—four-eyes, nerd, mundane, vampire, Daylighter—he should just get a shirt with his name on it and wear it every day, maybe then it'll catch on.

"I think you know what I mean Jace."

Whatever Jace was going to say next was drowned out by the high, screeching cry cutting through the tense air better them and switching it to terror. Jace whirls to face them. "What was that?" The shrieking continues and they take off back towards the others in the garden.

What could have possibly been minutes ticked away in seconds and Simon watches from the edges of a white misty blanket and sniffs at tentative at the merger of blood and demon in the air. Magnus calls over the noise, sparks of radiant blue dimming in his hands and the Lightwoods rush for the Portal—Maryse with Max, Alec dragging Isabelle—

Madeleine lays dead on the ground a few steps away.

A Forsaken warrior rises to the ground between them and words catch in Simon's throat, trying to say both their names at once, they come out in the jumble as he's flying through the air; fangs lengthening against his tongue and claws sharpening, he tackles the Forsaken, claws sinking into its scarred neck. There's screaming. So many voices. Some human, some not.

One's his.

The Forsaken blade slices through him, tearing at the skin of his abdomen and plunging through him like a skewer. "_Simon_!"

_Focus, _he heaves a breath. _Focus. Focus, heal. Don't pass out. No. _Hands are grabbing at him and suddenly there's a whirling sensation like falling through open space, light as a feather and falling heavy as a stone with the wind knocked out of him. It's like fledgling training 101 again—remembering what Lily told him it would be like, Jacob holding him down while Evie, the dominatrix vamp, sunk her blade collection into him. This was different. This burned, and ached, and stung in all ways the knives didn't. This _did not heal._

His lungs seize with the long forgotten human habit of breathing and Simon sucks in poisonous air and dust and the burnt sugar flavor of magic dancing across his tongue.

Around him there's more shouting still—Maryse, Isabelle, Jace—and hands pushing and pressing against him, blood rushing out warm and chilling on his stained clothes. They're saying his name and Jace's and yelling and asking questions all muddling together into white noise that makes no sense to him as he tries to put two and two together.

He looks up on the other side of Portal and sees a clear blue, undiluted sky unlike the skyline of New York and his first thought was _Raphael's gonna kill me _before everything goes black and spotty.

* * *

The sound of water lapping at the shoreline unnerves him like nothing else; it's a prickly reliving of his time on Valentine's ship and his throat getting slit for sacrificial means. The water was constantly rocking at the boat, as if it rebelled against Valentine too and wished to sink him to the bottom. Constant rhythm, water slacking the sides of the ship—waking up, throat cut, biting Jace, fighting like hell, ship sinking and swimming to shore with Maia. And then dazzling sunlight.

He remembers, hazily, his first week of vampirism and feeling so new and more animal than human, while he was inwardly clambering to piece his mind together after the new DNA scramble, standing at the edge of the very same boat dock with Raphael at his heels as he stared out into the dark water, new eyes catching the reflecting stars in the glossy black surface. It felt like a dream, just standing there in the silence, staring out at the water and wondering if he could swim across the ocean with his new-found strength.

His eyes open to a dark room with black-out curtains and brown eyes staring down at him.

"Are we near water?" he asks and is ignored, somewhat.

"Simon, you okay?" Isabelle asks worriedly, her dark eyes cutting looks towards Jace once every few seconds while cradling his head like his mother used to when he was little. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sits up, the pain leeching from his body with the movement as the blood in his veins focuses to heal it.

"Yeah, good." He mumbles and lets his eyes focus while he glances around. "Where am I?"

"Oh, I think you know very well." Jace says from the corner of the room, blending with the shadows despite his brighter-than-gold hair. Simon stares at him, blurry eyed. "You're in Alicante, the City of Glass—capitol of Idris."

Simon's silent for a few good long seconds as everything processes.

"Isabelle," his head tilts and his voice a soprano off kilter. "Could I talk to Jace alone for a second?"

Isabelle snorts something about _boys _and _stupid, stupid, stupid _before she crosses the floor and slams the door behind her with a final promise to make some coffee for later.

"I can't be here," Simon whispers.

"I know," Jace says irritably. "We're working on that."

Simon grunts and rubs his sore throat.

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" the blonde raises a skeptical brow. "I was sure you were going to blow a gasket and yell at me for saving your life."

"I need to feed," Simon mumbles almost embarrassed. "I lost too much."

"Yeah, I figured." Jace reaches for his jacket and pulls at the zipper, revealing his golden neck and the pulsing veins beneath that Simon's eyes dart to immediately.

"No!" Simon nearly launches himself back into the wall opposite of the bed. "I don't care how hungry I am. I'm not drinking your blood again!"

Jace raises a brow. "What? Boyfriend wouldn't like it?" He reaches inside his pocket and drew out a glass flask, half full of red-brown liquid, holding it teasingly between his two fingers and shaking the contents. "I squeezed it out of a few pounds of meat in the kitchen."

Simon's hands were shaking too badly and Jace had to unscrew the lid for him and hold it to his lips for a moment, mocking bottle-feeding him, before Simon could hold the flask on his own. He chugged it quickly, hoping if he swallowed fast enough it wouldn't touch his tongue, but he could tell just by the smell that the blood was a few days old, stale and cold despite Jace cuddling it against his side.

"Ugh," Simon makes a face and shakes out the shivers that skim his spine. "Dead blood."

"Isn't all blood dead blood?" Jace asks.

"Not all, when you have blood in your veins it's warm and alive and running through your veins. You took this," he waves the empty bottle. "From something that's been dead for at least a few days. Therefore, the blood is cold and its dead and it taste terrible."

"I thought all you drank was that stuff."

"It is." Simon pips with sudden vigor and coughs. "But it's like drinking flat soda. Would you drink flat soda?"

"I don't drink soda," Jace says cruelly direct and his eyes narrow. "Did you drink live blood when you lived with the Coven for that week?"

"Perks," Simon mutters. "People who actually want to give us blood . . . Raphael had someone bleed into a glass for me, tried to get me used to it. He told me it would be harder to adjust . . ."

"And are you adjusting?" Jace's brows draw together.

"Well, obviously," Simon snorts. "I can force this down, but I need it more often. In fact, I'm going to need a lot more than this. Why?—would you seriously kill me if I even admitted to liking fresh blood more? You can ask any vampire, they'll say the same thing."

"It's control," Jace says sternly. "The Clave—"

"Wants us leashed." Simon finishes and leans back against the bedframe with the crystal flask pressed between his hands, thin veil of red tint clinging to the sides of the glass. "I know, trust me they told me everything. I know." Simon mumbles and rolls his head back, hard, against the bedframe. "Damn it."

"What?"

"Raphael—he's expecting me somewhere . . ."

"Where?" Jace inquires with a raised brow.

"Dumort, top secret vampire meeting—hush, hush in the dowo."

"Dowo?"

"Downworld, like Downworlders? Get it?"

"Don't make slang."

* * *

_Hey, _Simon calls through the pain and imagines Raphael in his mind—beautiful and dark, lying back in his bed in Dumort with his blankets thrown over him like a child.

_It's the middle of the day. _Raphael replies groggily.

Simon focuses on Raphael's voice, pulling on it and fighting to project his thoughts outward towards him. He feels Raphael shift, noticing Simon was injured. He hears the lineup of threats in the corner of his mind, none of them for him. _Simon, where are you? _His voice is more awake now. _You sound far away._

Images of clear sky and running rivers and rolling grass lands cut through him mind.

_I'm in Alicante. _

Simon waits a good five minutes before Raphael replies back, sipping on his glass of blood with the coffee mug burning into his hand.

_You're dead to me_

_Well, at least you care._

_Shadowhunters . . . _Raphael growls irritably before Simon loses the connection.

* * *

Simon descends the stairs into a living area with the Isabelle and Max lounging around in the golden afternoon light. Jace lumbers down the stairs and tosses himself into an over-stuffed sofa. "Hey Simon, feeling better?" Isabelle asks not looking up from Max's book. "Hey, how do you read these again?"

Simon smiles. It's _Naruto._

"Sure," he steps down the stairs, being careful to go slowly. Max glances up at him, eyes widening behind his glasses.

"Aren't you a vampire?"

He pauses. "Yes."

"He's good." Isabelle assures with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Simon's like a kitten."

"Kittens grow into cats with teeth." Someone remarks and Simon whirls around, ears perking at the too-silent steps and a chill runs up his back like teeth crunching into his vertebrae. _Something wrong. Something unnatural. Something not of this world. _All the words Raphael had thrown at him now resurface ten-fold from the darkness.

"What's a vampire doing here?" Simon's eyes climb towards two dark-haired teens in the corner, one boy with unnaturally dark hair and eyes and pale skin and a girl with Asian features. She kind of looked like Lily, but her skin was lovely clay-colored. Simon's stomach gurgles, and he roots himself to the ground.

Then there's the boy again—smiling like Russia from _Hetalia: Axis Powers _and seeming oddly cheerful about everything.

"Sebastian Verlac." He says as an introduction, and Simon nods; getting the same creepy feeling he got when he met Pierre, he brushes him off.

"Simon Lewis, Daylighter. Charmed I'm sure."

"Oh, not at all."

Simon shuffles away and sits next to Isabelle at the end of the couch, showing Max through his sister how to read manga.

* * *

Jace is flirting with Aline.

Jace is _flirting _with _Aline _and if Clary were here she would _kill_.

She pretty, Simon knows, with hair nearly as long as Isabelle's and glittery dark eyes and pink outfit. She's lovely, but very much not-Clary and Simon watches the banter between them with dull interest.

Aline's sitting on his lap. On his lap.

And Jace is whispering in her ear—and oh _hell—_she's _giggling._

_How the hell is no one else seeing this?!_

"Simon? What's Sexy Jutsu?"

"You'll find out when you're older." Simon bites out, watching Jace run his fingers up and down the length of Aline's arm with a sinful smile.

Suddenly Aline stands, stretching out her body like a cat and smiling satisfied with herself before flouncing up the stairs. Simon counts ten minutes in his head before Jace gets up and starts for the stairs. Simon lunges up and over the coffee table onto Jace's back, grabbing at his arm.

"Jace? A word?"

"Sociopathic—would you like a definition, an example perhaps? Visual or verbal?"

Simon rolls his eyes. "Just _come on._" He bodily drags Jace from the staircase and living room into an alcove before the foyer. "What are you doing?"

"Obviously?" Jace's eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. "I'm going to my bedroom."

"With Aline?"

"Yes," he hisses. "Why do you care?"

Simon's teeth descend into his lip painfully. "Clary."

"Clary?"

"Clary, you know: short, redhead, bad temper?"

"My _sister_?"

"I can tell neither of you believe that."

"Let me guess: it's the way you two look—"

"Oh no, this is just keen observation and that kiss in the Seelie Court."

Jace flares. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Well, it's _obvious_ you're not over her so—"

"Since when do you care?"

"Since Clary's my _friend_, my best friend and I do care for her." Simon growls through his sharpening teeth, catching Jace's attention.

"I'm her brother."

"Honestly? I don't care. And I don't think anyone else does either, for that matter."

Jace's jaw locks and unlocks, his emotions warring clearly across his face but evening out into one as smooth as marble and as cold as the iceberg that mercilessly sunk the Titanic. "You're crazy."

"What's going on?" Isabelle steps into the foyer wearily.

"The_ stale_ blood has gotten to Simon's head." Jace snarls before Simon could say _nothing_, _absolutely nothing_, _remember read right to left_. Simon snarls back at him and shoves Jace back, satisfied when he bounces against the wall and Simon advances.

The blood feels thin in his veins, pressing them together with the exertion. Simon manages not to wobble on his feet with great care.

"The blood is not going to my head; I'm just not taking your bull anymore! Thank you for saving my life—_twice_, yes I know. But please, if the great Jace Wayland—slash—Morgen-_whatever_ can do but one favor for me: stop messing with Clary or I'll haunt your future generations!"

"Simon," Isabelle says gently.

"You'll fail—" Jace says sardonically, glaring up at him.

"Isabelle's kids too!"

"Hey!" Isabelle's eyes narrow.

The door opens.

"And Alec's adopted children!" Simon throws in for bravado.

"What?"

"Please, like Magnus wouldn't teach them how to ward off vampires." Jace rolls his eyes and Alec flushes brightly.

"_What_?" Alec's voice is a shrilling soprano.

"Just—ohmy—" His neck burns like a hot coil was wrapped around his voice box and his hands fly instinctively to his throat. Isabelle reaches for him and Jace's lips curl. "Screw you."

"Simon!" Alec growls, and everyone turns to glance at him. "Finally," he mutters. "I spoke with the Clave—they know about your situation and they are willing to conjure a Portal to send you to Brooklyn."

* * *

Alec _drops him off _with the creepiest little happy-man alive.

"I just wanna go home."

"All in due time."

* * *

Inquisitor Aldertree smiles at him an hour later from the better side of the bars.

"From what we've gathered on you, Simon Lewis, over the past months is that you're the lover of the standing Head of the New York vampire coven," the Inquisitor says smiling with a sick gleam in his eye that makes Simon's skin _crawl _like he should be taking one severe deep cleansing bath. "And as I understand he is also your sire, correct?" Simon cocks a brow at him.

Raphael: his sire, his lover, his ultimate destroyer.

"I guess . . ."

"Do you think he'll come and save you now?"

"Particularly not."

"Good," Aldertree says sweetly and plops down in a metal chair in front of Simon's _cage_—not cell—_cage, _and grins. "Now, Simon, how do you feel about the Lightwoods?"

_I think I need an adult now—possibly an attorney. _Simon thinks.

* * *

Aldertree wants dirt on the Lightwoods, he wants to know if they're in it with Valentine and explains the family history of the Circle to him carefully like a fairytale, but Simon has no heart(beat) to tell him this sounds like a highly edited version from what Clary mentioned to him. Perhaps it is the true one. No one but Valentine would ever really know since he was neither Aldertree nor the Lightwoods, his view of their betrayal was unbiased.

Adlertree makes it sound easy—so _easy—_for Simon to lie to him, the favors he would get, the friends he would make, if he just told the Clave, as the lover of a well-respected leader in his race, that the Lightwoods were in cahoots with Valentine.

And Simon says _no. _No because it would not be easy, no because the Lightwoods are his friend, no because of Max reading manga, no because of Isabelle making coffee, no because of Alec's fledgling relationship with Magnus.

The old man's head tilts.

"Then there's the matter of young Alexander Lightwood . . ." he pauses for a few breaths. "Forgive me for my bluntness, but does something seem a tad _wrong _with him to you?"

Simon grinds his teeth down. "There's nothing _wrong _with Alec."

_But there's definitely something _not right _about you._

"My mistake—we'll ask him ourselves." Aldertree waves his hands dismissively and glances back crudely to Simon. "So, 'no' is your final answer?"

Simon stares at his four walls and hardens his stare. "I won't make any false accusations against the Lightwoods."

"Alrighty then."

One of the guards from the far walls steps forward towards Simon's cage and, wearily, he takes a few steps back, but the guard stops short of the silver Star of David and his hand wraps around the handle near the opening.

A shower of water hurls down on top of Simon, burning his skin like acid.

He screams—fitfully, ruefully, painfully. Nails clawing at his burning skin and he tumbles back into the Star of David, screaming again. He crawls back against the stone wall, closest to the window—out of the spray.

The water dies down.

"Holy water," Aldertree says still smiling. "And there's more. Now, about the Lightwoods?"

Simon's teeth are pulling at his gums, overflowing his mouth like a bag of popcorn. His bloody fingers rip open at the skin turning his glasses human nails to claws. He's starting to heal already. Like always the harsher sides of the bite always came out when he was injured.

"There's nothing to tell." He hisses around his teeth, feeling more confident with his newborn weapons at the ready and the security of the stone wall.

"Hmm, Willhelm, adjust the nozzle a little higher."

_"You just gonna let them kill you?" A metal-toed boot connects with the side of Simon's jaw and the bolts make half-crescent cuts into his skin and Simon yells, rolls away and stumbles to his knees clutching his chest where Evie's razor is still dipping between two ribs, pooling blood into his shirt. _

_"Please."_

_"They're not going to listen to 'please'. There's a war coming, Raphael wants you ready." Evie reaches down and grabs Simon around the neck, crackled black manicure diving into the soft flesh of his throat. Simon screams. "Defend yourself! You're a vampire, not a wolf cub. You. Are. Death. Immortalized. Fight me!"_

_Another knife slips between his collarbone and sternum. "Either be the pain or endure it. Survival is everything." _

The Shadowhunter moves to complete Aldertree's command, but Simon's across the cell in seconds—baring his teeth and claws at the young man with scars not just from runes. Simon's hand closes over his on the handle and _squeezes _until all he can hear is _snap, snap, **crack**._ The Shadowhunter jumps back clutching his hand and screaming. The Star burns his wrist, but when he shrinks back this him he holds his stance, ready to lunge again.

A feral noise rips from Simon's throat—something primal and animal like he's never heard before. "I dare you, Nephilim. Try me I'll break the bones in your body alphabetically."

Aldertree just smiles.

* * *

**Do I fail at life? I was try to 'perfect' and 'fix' it so much I ended up with this blah, blah for an ending. But the beginnings pretty good. Beginnings are always very nice. Lovely things. I saw City of Bones, thought it could have stayed truer to the movie and not had those cringy not-in-the-damn-book-line, but hey we can't have everything. It was good on it's own.**

**Simon's hungry. Very, very hungry. And yes we will find out more about Simon's transition days and learning the ways of the coven. Yes, Evie is my original character, she's not too too important, but Simon will mention the things she taught him. **

**So am I, kind of. One a.m. haven't eaten yet.**

**ASK ME QUESTIONS!**

**Next Chap: More trouble. Raphael is poed and brings his A-game. Simon has a SERIOUSLYHUGEOMH choice to make.**

**Dreamland take me away, and review please or no new chapter.**


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